


'Pull the Lever' is a great but not so subtle euphemism for touching the peen

by BitchtearsandButtsecks (HandbagMurder)



Series: Homestuck [12]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Cronus can be a bit of a douche, Fluff, Holding Hands, Humanstuck, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Slice of Life, Sloppy Makeouts, This part of the fic is SFW, the link to the NSFW part is posted at the end as kind of a sequal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandbagMurder/pseuds/BitchtearsandButtsecks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cronus tries too hard and thinks too little, and really overall is the worst sort of person to fall in love.<br/>Kankri doesn't try at all and frankly he thinks way too much, but this doesn't really matter because he still comes across as a prude. </p><p> </p><p>I was going to give this a good title but as a joke i called it 'Pull the lever Cronkri' when i sent it to my beta and it came back re-titled as this and i was laughing for ten billion years this is great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Pull the Lever' is a great but not so subtle euphemism for touching the peen

**Author's Note:**

> I was distraught to learn as I was reading the notes my [ beautiful beta ](http://transversepea.tumblr.com//) wrote while editing this that she did not know what ‘Happy Days’ was.  
> I mean, I have seen a billion comparisons made, between Cronus and Danny in Grease, but NONE AT ALL comparing him to the Fonz.  
> Why is this so? Why? And so it is I am making this fic in an offering to you, oh great Fonzie-God in the apartment above the Cunningham’s garage. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeey-men.

The first time you kiss your best friend is an accident. An impulse. A spur of the moment thing you regret as soon as you pull away because you blew it goddamnit Cronus Ampora can you not keep your damned lips under control for just an afternoon? And no, you can’t blame the mood or atmosphere or his body language no matter how much you try and tell yourself that it had just felt so right, in that split second, listening to him explain the assignment calmly and eloquently in that measured, inoffensive accent, watching his hazel eyes (remarkable only for the fact they belong to him) lift to your face and flutter when he asks:

“Cronus, forgive me if I’m being presumptuous but I really do get the impression you aren’t listening to me.”

You hadn’t been, really, but who could blame you? It was cosy in here, in his plain, spotlessly clean room. He smelt good, like moderate shampoo, and you would never admit it but all that smart talk was a bit of a turn on. You never understood what he said, but seeing those plain lips form around complex words was decidedly erotic. Faced with all of this, how could you be expected not to do something?

No.

Stop.

You are being deluded again, fool. This is all your fault.

Kankri looks shell shocked, his lips parted, his eyes wide, his fists balling in the sleeves of his too-big jumper. You bite your lip, and strike a hand sheepishly through your hair.

“Sorry. I guess I should’a put a trigger warning on that?”

“… Uh huh.”

He nods rustily, clearly still struggling to process what you had just done, and you clear your throat.

“Sorry…” you bow low onto the desk and resist the urge to pound your head on the corner. Stupid, stupid, stupid man. You should have waited until you knew he was ready for it. You should have asked…

For the first time since you have ever known him, Kankri Vantas is speechless.

♋

The second time you kiss him is a little more deliberate. Or… is somewhat more deliberate. You can’t exactly be sure. The two of you had made plans to go to the cinema after school to watch some kind of innocuous children's film but you had to go to rescheduled swim training instead. He had been polite enough to wait for you as you swam. Kankri was like that though. Patient and understanding. You suppose it has a lot to do with having spent a childhood skipping from foster home to foster home, and having little control over events that dictated the life he lives.

“You know, Cronus, you are really quite a good swimmer. Although I disapprove of your skills being utilised in such a discriminatory manner as competition, I find it quite admirable that you have dedicated so much time toward perfecting the art.”

You smile and rub water off your face. You had barely stepped out of the pool when he decided to approach you and inform you of this, so you are still dripping and only wearing a speedo. The rest of the swim team is already making their way to the changing rooms, and you gesture to them to say you are on your way. It twinges your heart a little when they don’t seem to notice or care, carrying on as though you had never lifted your hand in salutation. Of course you try not to show this.

“Hey, thanks. Do you think you could wait by the front of the building, I have to go get changed and say goodbye to my friends.”

“I imagine I can do that. Did you want me to take your bag? Not implying that you aren’t capable of taking it yourself, I just thought you might- oh!” You grab his hand, which had gestured in the direction of your locker by the changing room door, as he spoke.

“It’s alright Kan, I can take my own stuff.”

“Very well. But do you think you could let go of my hand as well? It’s quite rude to just touch a person without letting them know your intentions first. Consider that they might be opposed to such advances, before you be so bold.”

Your eyebrows arch and he meets your gaze defiantly.

“Why? Are you opposed to my grabbing you?”

“No but-“

“Then what’s the problem?” You release his hand and hitch up your speedo. You are suddenly aware that you are half naked, and apparently he notices this at the same time because he flushes, eyes flickering briefly to your chest, and then absolutely refusing to drift any lower than your forehead.

“That is irrelevant. The fact still stands that-“

“Will you drop it? It could have been worse.” You lean in, knowing him well enough to predict that this would disarm him long enough for you to flee and maybe get to flirt with one of the cuties in your swim team in the changing room before you leave, and place a light kiss on his cheek. “See? I know I should have warned you but I really need to change. It’s cold.”

It lacks all of the alien sentiment and odd feelings that had motivated you to kiss him before, and overall is pretty manipulative and mean, but it works because Kankri looks completely humiliated.

“What? You… you…” He lifts a hand to ghost his cheek, flushing the pained colour of a tomato, and you edge around him toward the other side of the pool.

“Wait for me outside!” you tell him, feet slapping on the damp textured concrete floor. “I won’t be long.”

You are actually genuinely surprised to see him waiting for you once you have changed, and you almost expect him to lecture you about it like he had last time.

But he doesn’t even bring it up.

♋

The third time? Well you are proud to say that that is definitely consensual. You are feeling so cocky about your success last time (despite its entirely non-dimensional meaning) and confident he will say yes you even ask him beforehand and everything.

You are sitting in your lounge watching the television, sharing a bunch of green grapes and spitting seeds delicately into the plastic cup you pass between the both of you as you need it, when he sneezes and you laugh at him, probably insensitively, but it is pretty funny. He sneezes like a cat.

“What?” he asks you, flustered and trying to re-arrange his bangs. You grin and pop another grape in your mouth, crunching the seeds and not even caring when the bitter taste spreads over your tongue.

“Nothing. You.”

“I have allergies, I don’t appreciate you making fun of them.”

“I’m not making fun of them Kan, geeze. It’s cute is all.”

He looks almost as though he doesn’t know how he should respond to being called ‘cute’.

You tisk and stretch your body out on the sofa, and Kankri tugs at his sweater in the way he does when he is unsure of what to say or do next. It probably would have been awkward, if you cared to notice such atmospheres, but Kankri has this knack of making everything awkward without even meaning to, particularly when being chummy or touching other human beings came into it all, so you don’t even notice anymore. Why would a cool cat like you need to worry about awkward? You are perfectly comfortable with the situation, what needs adjusting is _his_ attitude about it.

Eventually though he settles down, and goes back to watching Happy Days on your dad’s fancy flat screen TV. You have already seen the episode (you have seen all the episodes, eyyyyy), and entertain yourself by taking in his face, his features, his general beauty.

Okay, exaggeration. Kankri isn’t exactly what you would call ‘beautiful’, and you would know ‘cause you are an expert on beauty. Meenah in the class above you? She is beautiful, if a bit of a bitch. Aranea in your English class? Pretty fucking beautiful. Porrim? Well needless to say she is hotter than she was beautiful, (don’t tell Kankri; that’s his foster sister,) but all the same. Even Mituna Captor, the spastic in your Media Studies class, had a certain physical beauty about him that left you biting your lip and daydreaming lesson after lesson, but Kankri?

Well, he’s got dark auburn hair, and he’s got very average features, and overall if you had to think of one word to describe him, it would be plain. Kankri Vantas is very plain. Genius as fuck, and too upstanding for his own good probably, but he also has these features you really like for some reason, and a way of talking that makes your stomach do strange flip flops.

You guess you like him then, when he isn’t being snotty and annoying. As in, you like him for more than just how he looks, which is a first for you and a little bit scary. Especially considering he’s like, your best buddy (you don’t have many candidates to choose from unfortunately), and you know there’s probably approximately no way he would ever let you get away with doing anything more than kiss his cheek. You can deal with rejection pretty well, but it is kind of weird to be rejected by a friend… all the same, you do like a challenge.

If you are going to try, you have to try careful.

And so in a split second impulsive decision (an unfortunate habit of yours,) you nudge him with your foot and ask.

“Hey, Kan?”

“Mmm?”

He turns those eyes on you and you give him a weak smile.

“Can I kiss you? I thought I should ask before… ‘cause you know. You have that thing about it.”

His face takes on the approximate shade of a firetruck.

“Oh,” he croaks, and you try to tone down your smile a little in case it begins to border on sleazy. There are three grapes left, and you grab two (leaving one for him if he wants it) and this time you remember to spit out the seeds; a good distraction, you think, from the tense vibes he seems to be giving off.

“… Well, I definitely appreciate your asking first. It’s nice to know that you respect my freedom to choose if I want to subject myself to romantic or sexual advances. However, I feel I should decline because, as you know, I have chosen to abstain from such relationships.”

“But, I don’t mean it sexually? I just… your cheek? Can I kiss your cheek?”

This is the first time you have ever offered a compromise (lied, you mean) to a romantic interest. Ever. It feels strange and almost as though you are loosing your control of the situation. Kankri looks deeply torn, and you gnaw your lip, playing idly with the seed cup and tingling with suspense…

“… Okay. I suppose I can allow… that.”

He drops his eyes and the second he agrees your heart seems to explode in relief and excitement. You sit up hurriedly and lean in close to him, ghosting your mouth against his ear but not daring to contact his skin yet.

“Are you sure?”

“Mm.”

He won’t meet your eyes, and his face is hot even when you are not touching it, but he isn’t withdrawing from you, nor are you getting any other signals that perhaps he might want you to stop. You move an increment closer, and press your lips gently against his warm cheek.

You probably don’t need to draw out a simple cheek kiss like this, but you want to make the most of it. So long as he doesn’t complain you tell yourself it’s okay, and eventually when you do part, he doesn’t look even the least bit like he didn’t like feeling your mouth on his skin.

“Thanks,” you breathe, attempting to process the way your heart is winging, and why on earth your breath is irregular as though you are excited. Kankri ‘Hm’s and turns his face a degree to lock his eyes with yours. He is much more confident now you have done the deed.

“You’re welcome. Thank you too.”

His eyes flutter closed and you almost recoil in shock when he tips his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses sliding together and then pressing edge against edge. You can feel his gentle breath against your lips, and from this proximity you can see each delicate spider capillary under fluttering eyelids. You swallow and feel blindly for his hand on his knee, your fingers curling over his, your eyes sliding closed and your entire substance dissolving in the perfection of the moment.

♋

He doesn’t let you kiss him again for a while, even though you ask every day in the hopes he might have changed his mind. You wonder if he thinks you are just jesting with him, when you approach him by his locker during school and ask for a good luck smooch before your classics exam, or when you sit next to him on the bus after school  and ponder aloud if he would be willing to peck your cheek before you have to get off in the city and catch a different ride. This aside though, he is surprisingly affectionate when the two of you are alone. Sometimes when he is tutoring you, he gives you little graces. He touches the back of your hand in a way that sends electric shocks up your arm, he presses his shoulder against yours and at the end of the evenings, when a heavy groan of exhaustion escapes you and you sag uselessly against his side, he turns his head and presses his nose against yours.

An eskimo’s kiss, you think, but you would never say this aloud because it definitely seems like the sort of thing he would flip out about. Ethnic slurs, and such.  All the same, it is exciting, and when he does it it makes your heart beat a little off kilter, it makes your palms sticky and your toes curl in your canvas shoes. How can he do this to you? Nothing more than a simple boy of complex words, and he’s making you feel like a lovestruck teenaged girl. It’s ridiculous.

“I hate to sound so judgemental, Cronus, but you know deep down I never ever believed you would be the sort of guy to understand these things.”

You squeeze his hand, something you had already established as being okay without asking, and swallow the pointless words that rise to the back of your tongue without meaning to. Words like ‘sugarbaby,’ and ‘wanna come to mine tonight?’. You don’t feel like you should need to say anything right now, in these moments of vulnerability and uncertainty.

“I appreciate it.”

You smile and nose the crown of his head, drinking in the scent of his hair and the way his body seems to fit against yours. You wonder if he would mind your embracing him. Just a little. Arms around the shoulders kind of thing.

Awkwardly, you manoeuvre your body so that you can, and although he seems a little confused at first, a wee bit put out, he doesn’t resist.

“I like you, Kan. Is that okay?”

“… Yes. I think so. I mean, I’m certainly flattered. I do like you too. I enjoy your company.”

“… Can I kiss you?”

You ask it out of habit, rather than in hope he might say yes. Naturally you are pretty shocked when he sighs, setting down the pen he’s is still holding in the open spine of the book on your desk, and nods.

“Okay. I suppose.”

Slim fingers hook a mousy lock of hair behind his ear and he tips his face to look at you. He has freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“But just once.”

You don’t even hesitate to comply.

♋

“Hey doll, you wanna hang out after school? I got my Bro’s car.”

Meenah scowls and slams her locker shut in disdain. You are used to it, but you wince anyway. Fuck it all.

“Oh fuck no. I would rather choke on a million dicks.”

“You can choke on my dick?”

“You’re disgusting.”

She gives you an utterly repulsed look and stalks past, and you groan, falling against the locker tiredly and raking your hand through your hair.

Goddamnit.

You suppose you can’t blame yourself for your failures, when your heart just isn’t in it. You really only hit on people for appearance purposes now, you are getting plenty of hand holding action from Kankri, and yet somehow being shot down when you are half-hearted hurts so much more. You kind of want to take it out on someone, but you know that if you corner Mituna, Kan will go off at you and you just don’t want him mad at you right now. Not when things are going so well.

Well.

Sorta.

You feel guilty for thinking it, which is strange because you have never felt guilty about something like this before, but as of last Tuesday, when he agreed to come to the local pool with you so you could teach him to swim, thoughts of Kankri and maybe doing more than just kissing his cheek have been clogging up your head.

It’s so stupid!

Geeze, Cronus, sort your shit. You are allowed to have a sex drive, right? You have never had a problem with feeling attracted to someone before, so what is it about this little thing you have with him -- which still eludes any sort of tag, label or definition, probably exactly as he had intended -- that makes you feel so guilty? 

You groan and drag yourself upright, heading toward the door even though you still have a period left to go before the end of day bell. You need to go for a walk. A smoke. Something to clear your head. Something to erase from your mind the memory of his pale, freckled skin; the way he looked so weak in those board shorts and slightly-too-big wife beater; the way he clung to you in almost panic as you pulled him through the water and assured him ‘it’s okay’. You had never seen so much of his skin before, never seen him afraid before, and you have certainly never felt like you were in a position to tell him what to do before that day. The memory makes your nape prickle and your heartbeat swell, and somehow you find yourself reliving each second. Each perfect detail in flawless detail.

“Oh dear, Cronus. Cronus I really don’t… oh my gosh… oh GOSH I CAN’T TOUCH THE GROUND HELP ME!”

“Shhh… it’s okay, you’re okay, come here.”

You remember how tight Kankri’s hands had been on your shoulders,  how as soon as you were in reach he was clinging to you, legs wrapping around your waist, nails digging ruthlessly into your skin. Water swirled around you both, you were comfortable in your element, relaxed, and you pulled him through the water like your own precious bath toy.

“This was a terrible idea, as much as it pains me to admit it I really do not feel as though I have the capacity to master this skill. Please help me out.”

“Okay, do you want to go paddle in the kids pool a bit? It’s only shallow. Comes up to your knees.”  
He had denied it all the same.

You pull a cigarette out of your pocket, contemplate it for a moment (should you quit? Kankri hates it when you smoke around him…) and then light up.

Maybe you are just experiencing a bit of sexual frustration. When was the last time you got off? A while ago, right?

Yeah, that’s what you will do.

You will go home and masturbate. No jury in the world would condemn you for that.

♋

“I can’t believe you!”

Kankri is really. Fucking. Pissed.

You don’t know what to say, you hadn’t intended him to come in and if it wasn’t for your stupid father letting him into the house even though you were upstairs with your door closed you never would have been caught. Why was he even here? Didn’t he have an Amnesty International meeting on Fridays? Or a Gay Straight Alliance thing? Who even cares? Your main concern is that he’s stormed in looking furious, and you barely have enough time to cover your dick before he’s off ranting in a way you would barely even recognise as being his.

“You’re supposed to be my friend, Cronus! More than that! I’ve never felt so betrayed and angry in my life! I thought you got me! I thought you liked me! I should have known better. I should have known you were just a selfish, cruel asshole and you were using me! Using me like a common _WHORE_! How dare you?!”

He strides forwards and plants such a slap across your cheek. Your head spins.

“I swear to god, Cronus Ampora, you have Meenah and you are welcome to her. But if you come near me again I promise you, and I promise you now, that I will- I…!” His argument seems to have lost energy, and you sit there staring at him wide eyed as he trails off, face pink, chest heaving heavily in his sweater. What the fuck is he talking about?

“… What?”

He sets his jaw and folds his arms hard across his chest.

“Don’t ‘what’ me you poorly excuse for a human being. I trusted you. I believed in you.”

“You what what what?”

You are so confused.

You are sitting in your bedroom halfway through wanking, and Kankri looks like he has just eaten a double helping of vengeance for breakfast. You wonder distantly how long it will take him to realise you are hiding a boner under your pillow, but mostly you wonder what you might have done now, and how you can possibly fix it. Your hard on is swiftly softening, and if that isn’t an indicator of how severely scared you are by this development, nothing is.

“Kan, I don’t understand.”

Kankri scoffs and turns his nose up at you, the quiver of his adams apple betraying the feelings of discomfort he is experiencing, being here, being assertive, being a slave to emotions…

Oh god.

Whatever you did, it must have been horrible, because all those things Kankri said were so unlike him it’s almost impossible. ‘Inexcusable excuse for a human being’, ‘common whore’, ‘selfish cruel asshole’…

“I… I’m sorry?”

You don’t know what you are apologising for, and obviously it doesn’t slide because he just huffs and shoots you a filthy look. It lingers on your face, on your expression, trying to read for guilt and hopefully finding none.

“You’re sorry for what?” he asks coldly. “Are you really sorry, or are you just saying it because you want to get on my good side and take advantage of me aga- oh my god are you masturbating?!”

You open your mouth in a flustered attempt to negate the question. You knew it was coming but now it has you don’t know how to respond.

“I was? Look, Kan, can you come back in like a minute cause I don’t know what I did wrong and I just- oh god no wait come back! No I take it back we can talk now I just-“

It’s too late. He’s already gone.

You groan and flop back on your bed uselessly. Your limp cock is unpleasant in your hand, but you don’t let go.

Back to square one.

♋

It’s hard being square one. In fact, if anything, you are less than at square one right now because Kankri won’t even talk to you and you finally have figured out why.

Meenah had told pretty much everyone that you had been ‘sleazing all over her’ again (her words, not yours) and while that might maybe have been a little bit true it wasn’t as though you had been serious! God some people were so touchy, and now it was your job to run around picking up the pieces to a disgrace that wasn’t even rightfully yours! Fuck this life, fuck this earth, and fuck everything in between.

You catch Meenah on the way out of music class the next afternoon, your guitar in a bag over your shoulder and for the first time in your life you are distinctly aware of this, particularly when she notes it and rolls her eyes like you are just another band douche trying to look hot with some strings.

“What do you want?” she snipes, and you set your jaw at the tone of her voice. It’s pointy and cruel, and you think that you have dealt with people like this all your life. How much longer would you be able to maintain a steel-skinned indifference about it all?

“I wanted to tell you that you’re a real notch bitch for running around telling people bad shit about me being ‘sleazy’. What do you know? I’m a good guy, but ladies like you won’t even give me a _chance_. ”

“Oh, a ‘good guy’, eh? Real classy, hitting on a girl and then calling her a bitch.”

“Well you are!”

“Well that’s probably ‘cause you are a sack of dirty man-slut.” She hitched her bag further up her shoulder and adjusted the strap, flattening it over the curve of her shoulder. “You’re a pig, Cronus, haven’t you noticed that yet? It’s why I don’t like you. It’s why no one likes you. And it’s why no-one ever fucking will.”

Edgy and cold, Meenah gives you a hearty forced grin before dropping into a scowl and stalking away, you are too busy being hurt to notice at first, her words striking you in tender places you would have preferred remain un-injured. It’s why no one likes you. It’s why no one will…

People like you! You’re smart, you’re laid back, you’re talented and cool, and so what if you feel a little like you deserve a clan of followers? You do. You like yourself, and surely, surely there are plenty of people out there who like you too! Real people. Not just people who have to pretend when you go on swim meets to perpetuate the idea of team spirit. Not just your brother who is a bit of a jerk but he’s always happy to let you drag him to a movie if you want company for a night out or something of the sorts. Not just a teacher, who tells you your essay on civil rights was excellent but you didn’t dare admit that the only reason it had passed was because Kankri had helped you.

Kankri.

Kankri likes you. He likes you enough to talk to you, to not care when you don’t wear your hair slicked back and to listen to your complaints when you’ve had a shit day. He likes you enough to help you with your homework, and give you opinions on new songs, and lots of things really. He likes you for you, and not because you managed to win him over with smooth words and a haughty air but because you like to listen to him and you like to think about his words and you like him, and is that the only real relationship you are ever going to have?

Well maybe it was. It doesn’t matter now. It’s over.

The empty place between your stomach and your lungs seizes, a hard ball of soreness putting pressure on your insides and messing them all out of shape. You want to say something. You need to say something that proves you aren’t pathetic. Really you aren’t. There is at least one person in the entire world who believes you are actually worth a damn.

“Are you kidding, doll? Are you serious? For your information, I’m currently seeing someone right now so fuck you too, okay?”

You yell it desperately down the hall after her, and some people turn to give you disbelieving looks because it sounds pathetic, and you feel your face flush pink as they study you and know ‘oh, Cronus Ampora. The biggest virgin whore who ever whored.’

She flips you off over her shoulder.

And that really is just the end of that.

♋

Your unsuccessful attempt to talk to Meenah did not help your situation at all. In fact it really just made it worse and you don’t know what the hell you had thought it would be of any use in the first place, now you think about it. You decide that the best way to patch this up would be to go directly to the instigator, and as far as you are concerned, that was Kankri himself; you waste no time making your way to the library where you know he will be at lunch break and approaching him.

“Oh, Kan, thank god you’re here. I wanted to talk to you something fierce.”

“Hm?” He looked up from his book with an expression of disinterest on his face. “Pardon me, but what? Why are you here?”

“To talk to ya.” You pull up a seat and sit next to him at the table. He sniffs and turns his eyes haughtily back to his book.

“But you have to understand, Cronus, I don’t want to talk to you. Your presence is triggering me. Please leave.”

“Kan…”

His face colours, and you wonder briefly if he is remembering the slurs he threw at you the other day with even a touch of regret. Knowing him as you do, the very recollection of the words is probably haunting him right now, yet this gives you little comfort for reasons completely unknown. “Please leave.”

Hope almost extinguished you sag, trying to find words, dignity, anything to salvage yourself right now. You are spiralling, you can feel it. You are watching your pride dissolve and honestly, you wonder if you might cry. You are so alone. All you want is a hug. Please, Kankri Vantas, take pity on your wretched soul.

“Kan, please don’t be like this.”

You try to reach for his hand but he snaps it away, shooting you a sour look that makes you recoil in hurt and shock.

“Don’t you dare touch me. Don’t you dare disrespect my body or my request that you leave. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“But I need-“

“Get away!” He snaps the book closed and whacks your hand with it, which you would have never expected, and stands up so swiftly his chair squeals on the polished wood floor. “Get away and don’t come near me, don’t talk to me, and don’t- oh my gosh.”

You don’t know what it is in you that breaks.

You don’t know how, and you don’t know why, but as he stands and hisses at you you feel the last fragile thread of self esteem fray and snap, and suddenly you can’t help yourself. Your eyes are burning with a wetness that you cant hold back and you choke on your breath in a sob that you regret as soon as it comes out of your throat. How humiliating. How pathetic. Meenah is right, Cronus, no one likes you and no one ever will. You are a fucking looser. And an asshole at that. You can’t take this. All your teenaged life you had taken Kan for granted, the only person who probably really mattered, and now look at what has happened. Well it serves you fucking right.

Right now, _you_ don’t even like you.

You stand up hurriedly, to match his own sudden stance, and spin on your heel before he can even respond. No no no this is not happening, you are not going to cry about this, you miserly, ridiculous excuse for a human being. Jesus Christ pull yourself together! You are already scum, don’t become scum without a sliver of pride.

It’s no use.

The tears arrive and fortunately you are already at the doors, striding as though you are being pursued, when they come. Without hesitation you slam them open and storm down the hall through throngs of students at their lockers, talking with mates, some of them laughing, none of them bothering to smile at you. You rub your fist furiously under your eyes to mop up the tears and sniff thickly as you pass, heading toward the front door and stepping aside for absolutely no one in your path.

Shit happens.

Shit happens, and all you can do now is lie back and take it. Besides, it’s definitely all your fault.

            ♋

“Cro, open the fuckin’ door or I swear ta god-“

“Go away!” You jam your face in the pillow and wish your brother would have the tact to just leave you alone to die in misery. That’s all you really want to do right now. You haven’t gotten out of bed all day and you feel gross, like you need a shower, but honestly the inclination to do so is not forthcoming, and your current heart break problems are rendering your regular bodily functions insignificant.

Oh, there you go again, Cronus. Taking important things for granted. Good for you.

You groan and wish you could slap the annoying voice in your head around the stupid smug face. It looks like Mituna Captor, the kid in one or two of your classes, and honestly you have never hated anything quite as passionately as you hate that mop-haired voice; though the words it spits at you now are nothing like the sort of things he would dare to say to your face.

You are so fucking dumb Cronus, you know you just suck. Forever alone. Dying a bachelor. No one loves you cause you are just a grade A CUNT.

Yeah shut up you KNOW. Fuck off, for the love of god before you go absolutely batshit insane.

Eridan, though, has little sympathy for your plight.

Like the irritating little brother shit he is, he doesn’t bother trying to entreat you open the door again, slamming it open as hard as he can and probably breaking the lock or something in his wake. God almighty, sometimes you think that boy is maniacal. You sit up in wide eyed horror and he glares at you from behind a pair of cosmetic glasses.

“You have a fuckin’ visitor. Get changed and go downstairs.”

You gape at him in shock and he cocks an eyebrow at you

What are you lookin’ at?

Before departing, a devastated door in his wake.

Fucking hell. A visitor? Today? Seriously? Why would anyone want to visit _you_?

All the same, you roll out of bed and put on a pair of pants. Your hair is a shaggy black mess, un-styled and gel-free so it’s ridiculously poofy and wow, what are you supposed to do about the smell of stale sweat on your skin?

You spritz yourself with some old spice and decide that will do, before grabbing a t-shirt off the back of your desk chair and pulling it on rustily as you descend the stairs.

This is fucking rank.

“Okay, whatever, I’m here. What is it?”

You make your way into the lounge and as soon as you see the back of a familiar head you are paralysed, unable to tell if this is actually happening, or if your mind is playing tricks on you again. Last night, you had had a painfully believable dream that Meenah was fucking you in the ass. You had believed it whole heartedly at the time, and when you woke with a the floppiest dick and sweatiest brow ever to exist you couldn’t help but feel as though the whole thing had had deep psychological significance. Was this another dream? Was it his turn to anally debauch you now?

“… What do you want?”

You know it sounds rude, but you also don’t have time to construct a polite sentence. Kankri is looking at you with those plain eyes and a distinctly composed expression, and you are acutely aware of the fact that the shirt you had pulled on still has pasta sauce on it from last nights pity binge.

Oops.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

He stands up, looking same as always in a pair of faded straight cut jeans and a sweater from somewhere deep in the never-ending sweater pit that is his closet. This one is not his favourite, rather it is a white V neck that looks impeccably soft, and underneath the neckline you can see the curve of a plain black tee. He’s not wearing jewellery, Kankri doesn’t wear jewellery, but the way he tips his head back makes his throat look long and bare without a turtle neck or cowl to hide it. You think a necklace or something would not go amiss.

“… About what?”

“Mostly? I er…” he clears his throat awkwardly, and you blush for the fact he has made the effort to be here, he sure doesn’t look prepared for what he is about to say. “Mostly I wanted to come by and apologise for making you cry yesterday. I did not realise that you felt so strongly about this, and while I still will not condone what you have done I am willing to offer that we call truce on the matter. I had no plan to make you upset, and I am, in truth, embarrassed concerning the nature of the various slurs and offensive terms I addressed you with. It’s just… well…” he sighs heavily and brushes his hair lightly off his face. “You will have to forgive me for my harsh words and my reluctance to believe your excuses. It was wrong of me to not listen to your side, and I realise that this was probably offensive and upsetting to you. I’m prepared to listen to you now, if you still wish to try and explain.”

You stare at him as though you have never heard the way he talks before in your life.

You had always considered Kankri to be reasonable and gently spoken, and never once in your entire acquaintance with him had the word ‘pretentious’ ever occurred to you. He had always seemed so balanced, a far cry from the way your family sat around in chairs of entitlement, as though they were born with silver spoons in their mouth, but only now do you realise that they are very much alike. High and mighty. Think they are superior because of this, this and this. Is Kankri Vantas really flawless? Perhaps you are just being touchy because he was horrible to you…

No. Cronus. Stop.

Don’t blow this.

You have too much to loose to be bitter.

“… Oh.” You are unsure what to say, and with lips pressed in a tight line and eyes that refuse to rest on your face Kankri awaits your response. “Uh, it’s okay? I guess?”

He hadn’t expected you to cry. That voice mocks you, even when you are busy wading through thoughts of your own. He’s guilty because he hadn’t thought about it. He’s so used to seeing people as black or white he forgot that you are capable of feelings. Maybe he believed all those horrible things about you…

No.

No you won’t listen to that voice, even if it is probably right. Swallow your pride and begin again. That’s the plan. You need to start somewhere.

“I… look, can I go upstairs and get changed? Maybe shower? Sit here and wait, we can talk about it more when I get back.”

♋

Kankri tells you you can choose where to go talk, which means that actually he wants to choose so you tell him you might go to a café or somewhere, and let him respond with a mild ‘okay, sure. Let’s go to x café, it serves ethical coffee’.

So it is that you find yourself sitting outside an indie little coffee shop with an oversized chocolate milkshake in your hand, watching Kankri nibble his way through an organic blueberry muffin and trying to figure out what on earth you could possibly say.

“I’m… really sorry.” You try again, and he hums, finishing the last of his muffin and folding the wrapper into a neat pizza slice of wax paper. “I’m not going to deny that I hit on her, but honestly it was habit more than anything. I didn’t really mean it. You believe me, right?”

“I believe you, but I want you to understand that it wasn’t a very considerate thing to do.”

“Why? Were we… you know. I dunno. Dating?”

“Dating is a bad term. I don’t like it and would appreciate it if you don’t use it. But yes. I considered us… involved. Did you not?”

“… I wasn’t sure.”

You sigh and rake a hand through still un-styled hair, and opposite you Kankri clears his throat, once again lost for words in your presence.

“I mean, you were never very direct with what you expected from me. You never said you even felt the same… and I dunno I can’t help it - you know I want a relationship. A serious one. With dates and touching and… other stuff. I guess. I’m sorry.”

Kankri looks a little sorrowful, a little guilty, and a lot uncomfortable, looking at his fingers and trying to appear as though he wasn’t taking in what he was hearing.

“Don’t be sorry,” he clips awkwardly. “You are entitled to your ambitions.”

“I really like you.” You lean over the table and cross your arms on the surface, almost withholding yourself, in case you scare him off. “I wouldn’t mind… having that with you.”

“I think that, and don’t be offended because this is just based on my observation and has nothing at all to do with what may or may not actually be true, you wouldn’t mind having that with most people. Anyone really. But of course, you know yourself better than I do.”

Not really.

Well, you do now, but three months ago?

Yeah… no.

Pained, a little uncomfortable, you clear your throat and rub the back of your neck. Across the table Kankri sits with his hands laced and most probably, his ankles pressed tightly together out of sight.

“I’m not… fussy. But that doesn’t mean… I don’t….”

Ugh.

You don’t know how to say this. You don’t know how to say that there’s something ‘special’ about him, because you know that if you even bring up a corner of that word he will launch into some equalist tirade or god only knows what, and you really just want to avoid the whole debacle. How do you tell him that you think he is precious without making him feel like you are putting him on some separatist privileged blah blah you don’t even know what he might interpret it as, but you know he will and getting him all tizzed is not a good option for either of you if you are going to work this out. Unfortunately for you, you are not a subtle or tactful person. You feel like a blind bomb squad agent, and woah holy shit there is an utterly ableist metaphor you dare not think around him again. Oh god… help.

“I like you?”

Is that okay? Please god say that is okay.

Kankri presses his lips into a line and his eyelids flicker in distinct discomfort, but he says nothing and you think that this is definitely something.

“Mmm.”

“So does that mean… you like me too?”

You feel distinctly ticklish asking this, and even more so when his cheeks flush red and he switches his eyes off your face.

“You are an amiable companion.”

“Kan, I mean romantically.”

“Don’t ask me that.” Suddenly his expression hardens and his tone drops to what could be a threat. You have never seen him look like this before, and almost instantly it makes you uncomfortable. He seems almost… aggressive.

“Don’t ask me that, please. I refuse to answer.”

“Wh-“

“Stop. Just, stop.” He stands and smoothes his sweater out neatly. “I have to go. I will talk to you later.”

“But-“

“I will talk to you later.” You get one more harsh look from stunning hazel eyes, as he pushes his chair in.

And then he leaves you alone in a snotty little café, his gait a little swifter than usual and his legs noticeably shaky under his weight.

♋

Eridan’s sympathies are about as extensive as his patience, which borders on nil at the best of times and usually rests in negative value on any given day of the week. He does not shove you violently from his room when you seek his company later that night, but that is probably about where his tolerance ends, his attention invested in the model ship he is building and his cold words indicating that he can hear you, but he really doesn’t care. It always bothered you that, even as the world’s biggest sixteen year old jerk, Eridan somehow managed to maintain some semblance of a relationship. You supposed that had a lot to do with the fact that he didn’t make any efforts to hide how much of an asshole he was, and people tended to warm to blatant honestly like that.... Perhaps you should take a leaf out of his book. Be yourself, yadda yadda… you’ve always had a major problem with your public verse private identity, you suppose that has something to do with your horoscope. Kankri always told you that such things were nonsense but you liked the notion.

Hey baby, what’s your sign?

You heave a tired sigh and roll around on Eridan’s bed, looking at the ceiling pinned with faded Fall Out Boy posters from back when he had that phase, and imagery related to his interests and pornographic fantasies. He doesn’t seem likely to reply to your previous slew of questions, so you try again with only a partial sense of expectation that he will respond.

“Do you think I have a chance, man? Like… do you think I could convince him? I mean I don’t want to seem desperate but-“

“You are the most desperate, pathetic human bein’ I’ve ever met in my life. I’m pretty sure he would know that.”

“… That isn’t helpful!”

He shrugs, and you think you probably should have asked him to withhold his opinions unless they were going to assist you in any way shape or form.

“You are beyond help.”

“… Do you think there is any way he might like me?”

“Oh he likes you.” Finished with your shit, Eridan places his paintbursh and glue down on his desk and swings his chair around to regard you, his face handsome save the expression of distaste that permanently shadows the corners of his lips. “But that doesn’t mean shit. Have you met the fucker? He’s stubborn as a goat and a complete bitch, don’t waste your time. If all you are going to do this evening is sit around moonin’, can you please get out of my room? Go be miserable somewhere else.”

“But-“

“Get out of my room.”

He stands up and scoots you off his bed, and you decide it would be best to just go with it rather than get into a scuffle.

“But you don’t know him like I do, Eri. He’s actually a real sweetheart and I- no don’t… just listen. Just-just no don’t, I- fuck.”

He pushes you into the hall and slams the door in your face, and sagging at the shoulders you slump against the wall in an infantile expression of annoyance and weariness. Why is this happening to you…

“You’re a real fucking tool, you know that?”

You bang your fist uselessly against his door, and though it rattles in its frame it does not give, the wood just as resilient as the heart you were quite fiercely struggling to conquer.

♋

“Hello.”

Mituna Captor greets you every morning, you would have thought he would have learned by now but apparently not, and as always he drops into the seat in front of you with an annoying air of ‘aren’t-I-just-the-greatest-everyone-loves-me-because-I’m-mentally-backward-and-my-girlfriend-is-a-fucking-hot-piece-of-shit’ about him. If such a thing even exists. You groan and drop your head on your desk, not up to pretending to tolerate him today, but not wanting to start bitching to his face considering that news of your doing so would almost definitely reach Kankri at this, a most delicate time in a carefully orchestrated mating ritual (wait, mating ritual? Aren’t you being a little optimistic there?), and he would get incredibly worked up about the whole affair. You just have to grit your teeth and bear it; how high a level of annoying can the dipshit reach in the four minutes between now and when your teacher shows up to distract you, or demand class wide silence in the space?

The answer to that question is very. In fact, almost record levels of annoying are attained only three seconds after he sits and turns to you, leaning forward and imploring.

“So you are dating someone! Wow, good job.”

What bothers you the most about the way he says this is the fact that he means it, his face open and lucid in the way it is when he isn’t PMSing or psyching out or you don’t even know what goes on in that fluffy head of his, and you don’t want to know. All you are sure of is that within the next, oh, five minutes or so, someone in the class is going to say something to ‘trigger’ him (ah, Kan, stop getting in my head) and he will be off spilling swears and flailing limbs and just generally being a useless spastic piece of shit. What a looser. What an idiotic, pathetic asshole. What were they thinking, putting a guy like him in with the normal students? The notion repulses you.

“It’s none of your business, ‘Tuna-baby, sit down and don’t talk to me.”

“I’m sorry.” His face falls noticeably and you wince, annoyed at the way your stomach sinks in guilt like it always does when you say something to make him shrink a little in his seat. You remind yourself forcibly that he deserves it.

“You had fucking better be.”

You run your tongue over your teeth and face the front of the room, trying as hard as you possibly can not to think about the fact that there is actually a reason, beyond the simple revulsion at his disabilities, that makes your skin crawl at the thought of him. A reason that actually strikes a little too close to home right about now, now you think about it.

Mituna Captor was probably the only person you had ever had a real crush on. Like, a serious one. A dedicated one where you didn’t look at anyone or anything for over three months, during your infatuation. You didn’t like to talk about it, because Jesus Christ how embarrassing liking a little nutjob like that, and even more embarrassing over all was the fact that he had turned you down. He had turned you down. You think that in his own naive and stupid way he still probably considers you his friend.

Although you in no way consider yourself connected to him anymore, you would be lying if you said that this perceived friendship with you didn’t make it so much easier to orchestrate a means of petty revenge. Revenge for the humiliated thirteen year old you. Revenge for the nights of stupid pining and days of embarrassing ogling. Cruelty, emotional manipulation… you would never have been a good boyfriend for him anyway, and what good would he have been? You had heard from his girlfriend that he didn’t even know where babies came from properly despite a thick vocabulary regarding the sordid arts. But all the same, some part of you remembered. Some part of you would hold that against him forever.

The idea that this time around it might be Kankri who turns you down, makes your gut ball and your heart twist because somehow it seems unnatural and scary, guilt inducing almost, to think of yourself ever being repulsed by Kankri in the way you are by Mituna Captor. Really it does.

You can only hope with all your heart that it doesn’t happen.

“… I bet she’s stupid.”

Mituna speaks quite loudly, and you lift your head, confused for a moment as to what he is saying. The girl in front of you turns her head to look too, and Mituna shrugs and gives you a sheepish grin, as if it might forgive what he’s about to say.

“Your girlfriend, she must be fucking STUPID. Hahaha.” He giggles like a child and you see that his coy mannerisms are rendering those who had heard him giggly too. You aren’t sure if they are giggling at his words, or at his kittenish behaviour, and it takes you a moment to register some kind of offense.

“… What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means she must be a DUMB BITCH to want to FUCK YOU.”

Oh no he did not.

Kankri Vantas is the smartest guy you know. And the sweetest. And maybe he’s not the best looking but he’s still pretty great and no one badmouths him in front of you. Ever. And that’s not just because of your recent romantic interest being aroused. You have always been protective of the guy, ever since the pair of you met, and although you had never thought of it before, you suppose that yeah, you’d beat a kid for him if he needed it, or even if he didn’t, and this is the case you find yourself in as you stand up and tower over Mituna in his desk to the apparent shock of a classroom that ‘ohh!’s in anticipation of your retaliation.

“You implying I’m a bad catch, chief? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Mituna looks as though he had not realised you were capable of standing on two feet.

“I-I what?”

“You.” You lean in close, close enough so that your noses almost touch, and he recoils but you seize his shoulder and someone in the classroom yelps and a rough hand tries to pull you back with no avail. You drop your voice, low so only he can hear it, and he draws a shaking breath, wide eyes fixed on your face. “Think that I don’t deserve a sweetheart, don’t you? Just ‘cause you have a chick but you can’t even get a boner. What a fucking bummer, kid. Serves you right for being a-“

And for some reason, you can’t finish that sentence.

You know how you want to end it, and you know should spit it out already, because he’s sitting there looking startled and open and waiting, but as soon as the words are on the tip of your tongue you hear a soft throat cough in the back of your head. You see a familiar innocence in startled looking eyes, and you think to yourself that if you say these things, these… slurs, you are going to get in shit. You know it. However infuriating Mituna may be, however wrong he is about people having the capacity to like you, however much you wish you could just beat in his stupid childish face, you can’t because that’s not appropriate and probably offensive and fuck your life, now you actually have to worry about these things.

Fuck it all.

It takes a huge amount of resolve to bite your cheek and push yourself mechanically upright, your limbs clunky and unnatural feeling as you spin and pick up your bag off the desk behind you. Mituna is trembling, obviously bewildered, and the whole classroom holds their breath as you depart stiffly from the room and re-enter the now silent hall.

You have to take a moment, when you get outside, to rest yourself and reprocess what is happening. You just walked away from a fight. For the first time in your life you just walked away from a fight.

You can hear the confused whispering and hissing follow you as you stride down the hall toward the library and temporary peace. At least until final bell rings and you can go home.

♋

You are sitting under a tree in the school yard waiting for your bus when he approaches, and for a moment you don’t recognise him because he isn’t wearing a sweater or a turtleneck, but a long sleeved t-shirt and a scarf, his backpack slung over one shoulder rather than mounted squarely on his back. You are smoking, and noting that it is he who approaches you, immediately stub your cigarette against a root bulging out from under the ground. Kankri gives you a weak smile and crosses his arms defensively across his chest.

“Would you mind if I sat?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

Well when you phrase it like that he has no choice, and he rolls his eyes a degree before sitting, folding his legs in a careful lotus beneath him and setting his backpack by his side.

“Do you have a drink on you?” he asks softly, and you hum, reaching for your bag and rummaging in it for your bottle of water.

“Yeah.” You offer it to him, and he regards it hesitantly, clearly trying to decide if he should ask you to drink some.

Would you be disposed as to let me drink?

“Go for it, doll. It’s free.”

He gives the bottle a guilty sort of a look and takes it, unscrewing the lid rather than using the mouthpiece and taking a gulp off the top. You wish you could tell him not to ask you for things. What’s mine is yours, take what you want, that sort of thing, but you know that if you take away his habit of always checking the temperature, always making sure he is unobtrusive and pleasant in every way, you would be casting him into unknown waters and you aren’t sure how well he would cope with that. You wish that there could be a day where he just sat beside you and curled against your side but always always there remained some sense of restraint about him. Some sense of not wanting you to be special or taken for granted.

You think that being taken for granted by Kankri Vantas would not be so bad.

“So I was conversing with Latula on the way out today…” He passes you back your drinkbottle and you sigh, rubbing your temple because, ugh god, gossip travelled fast and Kankri is probably about to ask why you ‘aggressed’ Mituna like that, and you know that Kankri absolutely will NOT accept a firm ‘because he’s a retard’ as an answer.

“Ugh.”

“She said that there were words exchanged. Possibly offensive ones. Between you and Mituna Captor. Were there?”

“Yes.” You feel like a naughty child.

“She said that he had unintentionally said some things to you that could have been interpreted as slurs, and that you almost ended up aggressing him. True?”

“… ugh. True. Could we not talk about this? It ‘triggers’ me.”

He gives you a warning look, and you huff, hating where this is going and wishing you hadn’t stubbed your goddamned cigarette.

“But, you didn’t.”

“So?”

So what?

You are starting to wish you had.

You jump when Kankri, inherently awkward and refusing point blank to look anywhere besides straight ahead, places his hand on your leg just above your knee.

“… Congratulations? No, wait, that is the wrong term. I mean to say that, in my opinion, it was a respectable thing to do. Not that my opinion is worth any more or less than the given opinion of anyone else of course, but I just felt that perhaps it would be appropriate for me to express my gladness for your decision. I mean-“

“Kan, shut up a sec.”

He looks distinctly scandalised.

“What?”

You shake your head in an indication that he should not pursue it, and follow through with your train of thought.

“Did Latula tell you what he said to me?”

He presses his lips together and curls his fingers on your jeans, in a way that suggests he does know, but he doesn’t want to say it out loud.

“She may have mentioned something. I suppose.”

You snigger humourlessly and slump back against the tree. From this spot you can see the bus-stop, and the huddle of persons that linger in waiting for the next ride home. Your bus is due in another five minutes, but you know that today is Tuesday, and so Kankri will not be riding with you partway home. Tuesdays he has a debating club meeting at 4pm.

“He wasn’t worth it,” you lie, knowing he can hear how much you disbelieve this in your tone. Ill at ease, he clears his throat, and relaxes his hand on your thigh.

“There shouldn’t be a thing as ‘worth it’ or not ‘worth it’, Cronus. He’s just as valid as you.”

Yet all the same, much to your astonishment, Kankri taps his fingers on your leg lightly in a gesture that could almost be intimate, his hands petite and neat. Manicured? Probably not, but he has the nice tablet shaped nails of someone who had never bitten or picked, white tips, slim fingers…

His hands are definitely beautiful. The most beautiful you have ever seen. And his touch is only just registering as exciting in your mind.

“Not usually the feely type are we?”

“Huh?”

He jumps, as though he had been lost in thought and your voice startled him down to earth, and the tapping stops hesitantly which is a shame.

“You.” You nod at were he is touching you casually. “What are you doing?”

He jumps and withdraws his hand in horror, eyes the size of dinner plates (or close enough), his cheeks colouring in embarrassment.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, I should have asked first if that was appropriate, I’m so embarrassed please-“

“Shhhh!” You actually laugh a little at how flustered he is, and reach carefully for the hand that he had withdrawn so as to pull it back toward you again. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it. Don’t you reckon I deserve a little bit of gratification by now?”

You replace his palm on your leg, a little higher than it had been before, and his face pinkens yet further.

“I-“

“Shhhh…” You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling it leak out of the edges anyway, and hope like hell he is feeling the world tighten up around the pair of you too. Feeling everything else pale into insignificance. “It’s okay. Trust me. Don’t you like it?” You hold his fingers down, not letting him pull away. “If you touch me, then I’ll touch you.”  
For a moment, you think you have said something direly wrong. He looks startled, as though you have suggested you eat his skin, and overwhelmed with the way you are pressing his warm palm against your body. Your confidence falters, and only then do you realise how utterly inappropriate that is, what you said. Woah. Woah, Cronus get yourself under control.

And then he laughs.

He laughs, and you are both relieved and a little hurt, because clearly he doesn’t think you are serious and you are, you are desperately, frantically, entirely serious and if you could have one thing in the world right now it would be that hand a little higher, between your legs, feeling around…

But it’s safer if you just release him and laugh it off too.

“Cronus, I know I shouldn’t laugh because your jokes are based on highly dubious subject matter, but I’m glad that someone can still feel comfortable enough to make light of me on occasion. I’m not humourless, you know.”

Actually, you think that sometimes he can be, but for now you hide your bruises behind an easy grin and a sigh.

“Nah, Kan. You’re a good fella. You get me, and I dig that.”

You don’t have the heart to press it more.

♋

Summer comes quickly, and the change that overcomes him is noticeable, not just a new t-shirt and a scarf but the way he talks around you, the almost relaxed mannerisms of his speech when the pair of you are alone.

The first day of summer holidays rolls around, but it is unexpectedly grey and drizzly, so rather than going down to the park with your guitar to busk you decide to call up Kankri and invite him over. He can help you out with a few compositions and watch your super-duper ten billion channel (or something) cable while you work. All he gets is the discovery channel at his house, (the Maryam family were good fosters, but very matter of fact when it came to paying for channels that weren’t directly related to fashion shows or True Blood marathons,) and you are pretty sure he has a boner for BBC2 so you suppose you owe him enough to allow him to come over and get his nerd hat on for a little while.

Besides, such invitations might earn you a well deserved place in his good books. You don’t want to have an ulterior motive. But you do. So there’s that.

For all its wetness, the day is still pretty muggy. Fortunately the second storey rumpus room, complete with 32 inch flatscreen TV, is empty, and so you end up opening all the French doors to let in a bit of fresh air. He is reclined on your sofa wearing a pair of track pants and a t-shirt, which is about as little clothing as Kankri is ever likely to wear. You feel a little under dressed in your wife beater and distressed cut off jeans, but he has not identified your outfit as being scandalous so you think you have done pretty damn well. You’ve been composing for almost three hours, tapping keys on the piano and scribbling down chords… your hands are spattered with ink, and overall you are feeling quite pleased with yourself.

You decide you might ask Kankri if you can sit down.

“Hey chief, do you reckon you could shuffle over a bit? I want to get on board.”

“Perhaps. If you asked respectfully.”

“I did ask respectfully, chief. Come on.” You wink, pushing lecher but obviously not transgressing the line because he does not glare at you, electing only to roll his eyes.

“No. Unacceptable. Offensive. Generally unsavoury. Try again.”

You whine softly and sit down on the arm of the sofa close to his feet. He narrows his eyes at you briefly, before swinging them back to the television in a silent statement that puppy eyes are not going to work.

Fine, you will play his little game.

You notice, when you glance downward, that he is not wearing socks although he was definitely wearing sneakers when he arrived at your house this afternoon. He must have pulled them off when he removed his shoes, and you know it’s strange, but Kankri has cute little feet, to match his hands. They are white, and he seems to be resting them in ballerina point for some reason. You wonder briefly, somewhat fugitively, if he is ticklish, and if now is an appropriate time to find out.

As soon as your curled index finger brushes the sole of his foot he yelps, leaping almost straight off the sofa. It would have been comical, if at the second he did so your heart hadn’t sunk with the understanding that you are going to pay for that. You are going to pay for that dearly.

“What on this earth do you think you are doing, Cronus Ampora!”

“…” You don’t know how to answer that. Somehow ‘seeing if you are ticklish’ seems like a weak excuse when faced with Kankri’s evident fury.

“Touching your feet?”

“… Touching my feet? Without my permission? Completely casually? Why would you do that?!”

“I don’t know, I thought your reaction would be cute? Oh fuck. No. No don’t throw that i-“

Too late. The decorative sofa cushion (Eridan’s addition to the shared space) had been launched at your head already, and now he is hunting for another.

“Kan, stop. No, seriously, stop stop I’m sorry okay! Please don’t throw any more pillows.”

You lean forward and grab his hands, and with a set jaw he snaps his head around to regard you, legs curled underneath him where he had withdrawn them when you first made the mistake of touching his foot.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it dirty, you know I didn’t.”

You see him scan your face for any deceit in that promise, but you know he won’t find any because there was none. Honestly, you had meant it with every inch of your heart.

“I just thought that you know. I might try and tickle you? Fuck that sounds dumb…”

“Mind your language!” he scolds you, and you grit your teeth in frustration, tightening your grip a little on his hands and unintentionally prompting him to drop the second pillow he has seized. Only now are you aware of the fact you are almost lying on top of him. Kind of. And he’s still looking at you with wide disapproving eyes, waiting for you to explain yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you concede eventually. “I should have asked you first. I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to upset you. If you don’t want me touching you then I won’t anymore.”

You release his hands and, significantly bruised, sit back into the corner of the sofa you actually never wanted that badly anyway, drawing your knees up to your chest and sinking down. Kankri shuffles on the other end, and you think that the awkwardness could have been cut with a knife.

“… I don’t mind you touching me,” he announces softly, after a sufficient amount of discomfort on both your ends. “Just… next time, please be so polite as to warn me? I don’t like being startled. Especially by such familiar and forward means.”

You look at him sideways, the way he is curled up clutching the pillow, not looking at the TV but rather his own knees. He had been crazed to watch this documentary too… What was it about? Something about sex trafficking in Asia? Much too morbid a topic to interest you.

“… Why do you have a thing against being touched?”

“Hm. I don’t really.”

“But you do. Or you have some kind of deal about being touched familiarly. You always have and I don’t know why.” You chew the inside of your cheek, sure that if you keep doing this, someday soon, you are going to gnaw a hole straight through. “Like when you let me hold your hand… you made it seem like it was the biggest deal in the entire world. It’s a weird thing to be uncomfortable about, really.”

He bristles as though he really thinks that it is not. “Well, I’m not. And even if I was I wouldn’t make a fuss about it because it’s an irrational thing to be concerned about.”

Oh what a little _liar_.

Eyebrows arched so high they threaten to disappear into your hairline, you turn your head toward him completely and he wiggles his lips side to side, as though he’s trying to decide if he should tell you something. Something significant.

“Really?”

“Sure. There are plenty of people out there who could rightfully claim discomfort around persons who behave deviantly or transgress the line of polite distance on account of past abuse or experiences, and yet manage perfectly well in a societal context in terms of relationships and physical contact. Although in the light of previous experiences during my youth I have elected to remain celibate, that is by no means a standard that indicates I am hesitant to be touched in anyway. I think I have very high tolerance for casual bodily contact with someone who, at your discretion of course, I consider a very… intimate friend. I suppose.”

Intimate friend? Is that what he called it now?

I did consider us involved, yes.

Wait, does that mean he still considers you involved? Ugh. Kankri needs to come with an instruction manual for gods sake. And what does he mean by ‘previous experience’?

“… You been fucked around with?” you ask, somewhat tactlessly. Kankri turns a particular shade of pink, and clears his throat neatly.

“Well, no. Not in the sense you are thinking. I’ve been in a lot of foster homes before I came to live with the Maryams, as you know. This of course was no fault of the state or the individuals who took me in, and I blame no one for what I experienced, but troubling factors have come into play in the past particularly in regards to my ability to form stable and long term relationships. I was never physically harmed in any way, but from my own point of view it was difficult for me to trust many of my new ‘parents’ and thus I find it challenging to trust persons around me still. I can hardly blame the families, considering how generous they had been in taking me in, yet all the same the memories of instability and being generally uncomfortable in my various homes have lingered with me. Ergo, any ‘odd’ behaviour (I find the term to be quite subjective) on my part in regards to your touching me is a natural consequence.”

He folds his hands neatly on his knees and turns his eyes back to the TV screen.

“I suppose that you can consider my willingness to divulge this information as some kind of gesture of closeness between us? I do appreciate you, Cronus. You are a valuable person with many pleasant attributes and I enjoy spending time with you. It’s my hope that you feel the same way about myself.”

You look at him incredulously, struggling to process what he had just said. Trust issues, eh? That would actually explain quite a lot…

“You know I like you, Kan. I’ve told you. Romantically.”

He coughs again and this time touches his lips in a subtle gesture of defensiveness.

“Yes. Well.”

He elects to leave it at that, and you both hesitantly return your attention to the TV, although your mind is restless with ponderings.

♋

“Here, I got soy because it’s an animal friendly alternative.”

You set the tub of strawberry soy ice cream on the table and two tablespoons, and Kankri (wearing one of your t-shirts because he had stayed over last night and neglected to bring a spare) over his trackies, gives you a wan smile, but reaches for the tub of ice cream anyway.

“I appreciate your gesture,” he tells you softly, “but you do realise that the soy trade is very damaging to the social and environmental health of many countries in the South Americas, particularly places like Brazil and Argentina, where rainforest is cleared regularly to make room for more plantations.”

He pulls off the lid on the tub of ice cream.

“On top of that, you have the people who are affected when the lands on which they grow their crops are replaced with soy farms; in the long term, malnutrition and single diet dependence is inevitable.”

And yet, as he says all this, you watch him gouge a lump of the dessert out with his designated spoon.

“He says as he eats it anyway.”

He shrugs and lifts his chin, all very haughtily, if you do say so yourself.

“Well you’ve already bought it now. Plus I can see that, despite your ignorance, you did put a lot of thought into it. It would be possibly upsetting to you, for me to decline your offer now.”

You sigh and sit down at the table opposite him, digging a lump of the ice cream out with your own spoon and shovelling it into your mouth anyway. Ice cream for breakfast- just the ticket on a day like this one. It promises to be a stinker. You might ask Eridan if you can borrow his car…

“Wanna go to the beach today?” you ask absently. The beach is a two or three hour drive away, but if you leave in half an hour, you will still have a good five hours of sunlight before you have to head home. Kankri tips his head in thought, tapping his ice cream spoon on his chin as he does so, and you take advantage of this to steal another massive lump of ice cream. That shit’s good.

“I suppose? Of course I’d need to go home first and tell my foster family.”

“Yeah, that’s cool.”

He smiles at you, and signals for you to pass him back the ice cream. You are happy to give it to him, and you smile contentedly as you watch him serve himself up another bite.

The last couple of days have been bliss.

Absolute, unadulterated bliss.

You have reached the point where seeing him smile made your heart flutter pleasantly, something you had never experienced before, and the sight of a strange pretty girl on the street did absolutely nothing to pique your interest, which seemed to be honed on him and his busy words at all times. You have stopped worrying about sex; whether that has something to do with his no-nonsense virgin thing or not, you have no clue, but you don’t really care because you’ve discovered something better than sex. Something that makes you feel warm and fuzzy much longer than an orgasm ever will.

You feel as though things are actually getting… pretty serious.

Is now a good time to ask? A time at which he is calm and pleasant, chatting away to you about the soy trade as he eats, even though you are only partially listening. Maybe… well you don’t really know a time that would be better. You could ask him later, when you get to the beach, but you know Kankri has a fifty-fifty chance of getting carsick and you don’t want to put him on the spot if he might be feeling ill… Perhaps now is the time.

Yes, you decide finally. Yes it is.

“Kan, can I interrupt?”

He drops his sentence and frowns at you, and you give him a grateful smile in anticipation of what you wanted to say next.

“Are we… I dunno. Have you forgiven me for the Meenah thing yet?”

“What? Yes of course. I forgave you a long while ago, Cronus. Why do you ask?”

Relieved you sigh and drum a steady beat on the edge of the table with your spoon as you think.

“Well, I was just thinking. Maybe if you were feeling into it, you might want to consider… dating. Me. Like… together. You know?”

He gives you a look. A very Kankri, utterly hesitant look, and as soon as he brings it out you sigh, regretting what you had said already.

“Ugh, sorry, never mind. Go back to eating your ice cream, hun.”

You thunk your elbow onto the table and your chin in your palm, huffing in irritation because fucking hell, you always chicken out about here with him! Always get cold feet. With Meenah or Mituna or anyone, really, you wouldn’t have a problem. Keep pressing until they reject you, keep pressing further then. Don’t stop, manipulate. Throw a tantrum until you get your own way and grease about like a worm in butter.

It bothers you that you can’t use these techniques on your ‘friend’ without feeling like a cad.

“Forget I ever said anything,” you grumble, setting your spoon down next to the half eaten tub of dessert. “S’not important…”

“Cronus I said I forgave you. I never said I’d forget.”

When you lift your eyes he is sitting with his arms crossed and a motherly expression of disapproval on his face.

“That really hurt me you know. Really destroyed my trust. While you have made yourself completely clear that you are interested in me, I must ask you to please withhold your advances further, at least until I feel comfortable enough again to allow you such personal contact. I appreciate your asking, however, I feel like I should decline.”

You groan, a noise like a spoiled child, and flop sideways onto the table.

“That’s not fair!” you tell him grumpily. “You’re leading me on! You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing. Whether I decide I want to become romantically involved with you or not is my business. You know that and I hope that you continue to respect it!”

You whine some more and roll your face down onto the table. Why. Is. He. Doing. This. To. You? Does he not understand how much it hurts? Does he not understand how much you like him? Not even in a shallow ‘he has a hot ass’ kind of a way either. In a really embarrassing ‘his eyes make me feel all dizzy and I love the way he pronounces my name so kindly’ sort of way that you would never admit to anyone, even under duress.

Is this karma? Is this what you get for spending most of your teen years as resident sleaze? How was that fair? How is that even a thing?

“Okay, fine!” you tell him, jerking your head up. “Fine. If you don’t want to date me now, then I suppose I will just have to make you want to.”

He pokes his tongue in his cheek testily and rolls his eyes away.

“Okay, if you feel as though you have the capacity to do that then feel free to do so. But I’m not making any promises, and really I shouldn’t even _indulge_ you. Trying to manipulate a person into liking you is lowly and very discourteous. I’m really not looking for a relationship you know. Now, or ever.”

You think this is a challenge you are willing to meet.

♋

Kankri is reluctant to spend time with you for the next week or so, but finally you manage to persuade him to come to town with you on his birthday, so as he can pick out a present for him that he actually wants or needs. On July seventeenth you pick him up from his house in your brother’s gay-ass Celica, and drive him to the mall. Almost immediately he drags you to the green exchange store and any amount of overpriced, eco-friendly items that you really aren’t willing to part with money for, but hey. Whatever makes him happy.

“Here.” You find a hemp bag, hanging on a rack by the door, and check the price tag, it is reasonable, and you think that maybe he should choose something like this. Keep the bills down. “How about this? You can smoke it.”

He looks at you in a way that says that he definitely does not want a smokeable bag for his birthday and you sigh. It’s hurtful and bothersome being on the receiving end of this Kankri. You have never known him to be testy or moody before, but you suppose it must happen on occasion because everyone needs a break from calm and composure at some stage, unless one is some kind of Buddha. You know that Kankri is not. He is completely non-religious.

“You know I disapprove of smoking,” he clips, re-hanging the bag on the hook and then rewrapping his arms around himself in a cradle. “And while I firmly believe that anyone has the right to smoke whatever they like, I myself am not interested in such fumable substances.”

Fumable? Sometimes you think he just makes up words to sound smarter.

You click your tongue and follow him dutifully, like a puppy at his owners heels, out of the shop.

“Well then what do you want, Kan? Come on have some pity. I can’t win you over if you don’t even give a cat a chance!”

“I don’t want anything; you know I think birthdays are just commercial excuses to spend money on pointless things. What’s wrong with a nice sentiment and a card? Nothing, I’m sure.”

You splutter, hands held out in front of you helplessly as you struggle to keep up with his stride.

“I can’t buy sentiment, Kan!”

“Exactly.” Suddenly he stops walking, and turns to regard you with a look that instantly makes you feel guilty. “You can’t buy sentiment, you can’t fake feelings. But you can buy material goods and use them to distract me. I’m telling you now Cronus, you are a good friend but you cannot win me over further with meaningless ploys like gifts. I won’t fall for that. I’ve seen you use that sort of technique on girls before, and I think it’s highly disrespectful.”

You are at a loss for what to do. How come he is being such a diva! What happened to the Kankri you knew? Who was always so neutral, always so gentle and kind and receptive to other peoples opinions and desires? It’s like he is trying to push you away!

Sentiment, you decide. You need a sentiment. A gesture of such epic, sloppy, romantic proportions he can’t help but be blown away by it all in a puff of lovestruck smoke.

Smoke.

You know I disapprove of smoking.

Suddenly an idea hits you, inspired by countless sighs and warnings about lung cancer, blindness, adult onset diabetes… you inhale sharply and begin patting the pockets of your jeans, finding your lighter and your packet of smokes and shoving them roughly into his hand.

“Okay, fine. Here. You want heartfelt proof that I’m serious, take these.”

He looks at them with pulled brows and a very alien scowl at the corner of his mouth. His usually endless patience is growing very thin, and while it thrills you a little to see him like this because no one ever has, you have to ignore it for the time being so you can say what you have to say.

“Why do I want these?”

“I’m quitting smoking. For you. Your birthday present, seeing as you always complain about it so much. No more cigarettes, no more lighter. Nothing. Cold turkey. Is that sentimental enough for you?”

His eyes widen slowly and he looks at you in bewilderment that makes your stomach flip flop, but you have to maintain an expression of seriousness so he believes you. You think you will almost definitely regret this later tonight, after you’ve wanked and have nothing to focus on to put you to sleep, but you will just have to worry about that then. Right now, you are deathly serious.

“… Are you sure?”

“Yes. Completely. _Is that sentimental enough for you_?”

You can see him fight with himself inside, the stubbornness of his resolution not to fall for your tricks battling with the swell of pride your sacrifice had inspired in him. Pride wins out, albeit reluctantly, and eventually he just exhales steadily and slips your smoking stuff into his satchel calmly.

“Okay. Yes. That will do.”

“Good.” Feeling sort of alpha male and aggressive, you only just restrain yourself from grabbing his hand and holding it to you. “Now we have that sorted. Come with me, I’m going to CD barn.”

♋

It’s your first gig in a while, and actually you had forgotten what it was like to play in front of a live audience, particularly with a band you didn’t know, in a house you had never been in before; but all the same it was a job and you never know who might be in the audience waiting to take down your name and make you a star.

Meh… you don’t really care about that anymore either. You don’t know why you agreed to the job. You didn’t want to, but you said yes anyway. You were loosing track of your motivations these days, it was all blurring together in the way things do over summer. Especially when you haven’t had a smoke for over a week.

Out of habit, you go to light one during your break from playing, leaving the hectic party room and edging past loud, drunk teenagers toward the back patio door. You don’t have the ghost shape of your cigarette packet or your lighter in your pocket, though, and your heart sinks to feel this even though you knew it was the case.

This is the worst.

You are tired, grumpy, and craving tobacco like never before.

You just want to get home and jerk off, but it’s only ten pm and the party folk said they would need you until one. You had better be getting paid good for this!

You are leaning against the side of the house catching some fresh, crisp summer nights air when your cellphone chimes in your pocket, and you know who it is already because the tone that plays is not your usual bep-bep-you-have-one-new-message but a cute little tune tapped out on the piano, from that day you got bored and started recording short personalised ringtones for your few close persons.

Kankri Vantas-2202: are you busy tomorrow? Would you care to accompany me to the library?

The library? Sure, whatever. You aren’t going to be picky where you go if he wants to hang out. Frankly the fact he even wants to is a blessing. You are almost done responding with an amiable absolutely chief. ;) want me to pick you up? When a hand on your forearm startles you, and you snap your head up to meet the gaze of a girl you had never seen before.

“Hello.”

She is petite and stunningly pretty, with slanted feline eyes and heart shaped lips; her speech is lilted by a distinctly eastern accent, and so is her manner of dress.

“Are you alone?”

“… Yes?”

You slip your phone back into your pocket, a little confused as to where this might be going. You see she is carrying a plastic cup of alcohol in her hand. A party patron then, escaped from the swing of things for some kind of a breather.

“Do you want smoke?” She slips her hand into her cleavage (woah, woah) and withdraws a packet of menthols. “I’m alone also.”

Your eyebrows cock, and she passes you a cigarette without waiting for your answer, before pinching hers between her lips and bending to set her drink on the ground so she can pat her body for her lighter.

“I… uh, I don’t smoke.”

It pains you distinctly to lie, the skinny paper tube in your fingers inviting and familiar, but you manage and offer it back to her as she lights up, rolling her eyes dramatically and sighing.

“You don’t smoke you have no fun. You play good though, and sing. What is your name?”

“… Cronus.”

“Damara.” She sucks a lungful of smoke and her eyes flutter, as though she is taking great pleasure from feeling it burn on the way down. “Glad to meet with you. Do you have a girlfriend with you here?”

You look at her in astonishment, having never once been approached by someone with romantic intent in your life, and she exhales a plume of greyish smoke mist into the night. You have no idea what you are supposed to do.

Damara has a pretty body; perky breasts that are quite concisely described by her blouse and a waist thin enough for you to curl an arm properly around her. She is exactly the girl that you would have singled out in a crowd a few months ago, but for some reason you struggle to feel any sense of attraction to her whatsoever. She seems very plain. Very ordinary and a little bit… trashy, actually. Not that you have ever been in a position to assess how trashy any given individual may be.

“No… but I’m taken. Actually.”

“Oh.” Her face falls a little, and she loops a long thread of jet black hair behind her ear in an attempt to look coy. “Well, you want some time with me anyway? I don’t tell.”

“No really, I’m fi-“

“Shhh… just come with me, yes? It will be good for you. I like you. You play music good.”

Her finger is pressed against your lip and in a sudden borderline ridiculous moment you find yourself thinking quite forcibly I need an adult! She doesn’t look like she’s going to take no for an answer? Wow, pushy girls… you thought they were an urban myth.

“No, seriously, I’m not-“

“No you are! You are interested. Look at me, I want to have you fuck me please. Just one night? It is free.”

“I-“

“Shhh. No, come on, come on you want this it’s very good. Touch me.”

And then she has your hand and she’s putting it on her chest and it’s the first time you have ever touched a boob before and you have never been so embarrassed in your life.

It feels pretty nice. Soft and round and you can feel her nipple (oh god it’s stiff) in your palm. Damara ‘mmm’s softly and pulls your hand firmer, seizing it with both of hers now and leaving her cigarette to dangle from her lips. You feel your dick stir with mild interest, the traitor, but you yourself cannot bring yourself to be comfortable with this. This is really not, in any way, okay. You have to leave.

You excuse yourself abruptly and yank your hand away. She stares after you in surprise as you return inside and you wonder how obvious it is to the rest of the people at the party that you are blushing firetruck red in the dim. You just turned down a hot chick for sex. You seriously, actually did. You don’t want to be here. You would give any amount of money in the world to be able to go home. But that girl though! Seriously, what is happening to you?

Kankri Vantas- 2214: Okay, is ten alright with you?

You stop your passage through dancing bodies in an inebriated crowd when you check your phone, an unwelcome thought hitting you with superstitious force.

It’s the first time it occurs to you that you might be in love, and the very notion of this makes you feel distinctly sick.

♋

You are really fucking tired the next day, but it is sunny and you did say you would take him out, so without complaint you pick him up and take him to the library, installing yourself in a sofa by the non-fiction section while he browses books and pours over national geographic magazines. At some stage, you must doze off, because when you wake up again he is lingering in the aisle close to where you are sitting, nose buried in a book on ‘the cult of the black virgin’ and wearing an expression of extreme interest and hesitance. You think it looks as though he is dying to tell the book it is offensive but, much to his reluctance has to admit, he is somewhat intrigued. It’s a very sweet expression, and makes you smile fondly into the back of your hand.

“Got some books yet, doll?”

“Hm?” He looks up, searching for your voice, and assesses you sitting conscious and patient next to the large window. The library here is placed somewhat awkwardly above a single floor office compound next to the lake harbour, and from the glass window panels that line almost the entire west wall of the building, you can see the shoreline of the lake curving around tall buildings and general metropolitan edifices. Sunlight leaks through the glass bathing everything in ambiance, and you think for the first time ever that as he stands there, holding his book and wearing an unguarded expression of contentment, he is actually really fucking beautiful. Not like… expressly physically beautiful? But alight with a softness that just makes your bones melt and your heart tingle. The way he holds himself, the way his eyes touch on you, the way his lips are actually, now you look closer, the prettiest lips you have ever had the fortune to see.

“Books. Have you found some?”

“Oh. Yes. I have, actually.” He indicates to a pile of books on the sofa next to you, which you had missed, and replaces the book about virgins on the shelf. “You must have stayed up really late last night. Did you know you snore?”

“Yeah. I did. Sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“You didn’t embarrass me. Why so?”

You shrug and pick up the first of the books on his pile (Dharma and Varna: The ethics of the ancient Indian caste system and its application in modern Indian society) and flick through it idly. He sighs and edges around the low table in front of your sofa and sits down, placing his books on the floor by the corner of the seat.

“You know, not to be pressuring you, and not to be criticising you for being sleepy, but when I invited you here with me it had been my hope that you might want to spend some time with me, rather than dozing on a sofa. Please don’t be offended! I understand entirely if you are, but I meant it purely as a question rather than an accusation. Excuse my rudeness.”

“… Time with you?” You are regarding him curiously, trying to decide if you should be teasing about this or not. “You wanted me to spend time with you? Like… a date?”

He flushes a little and clears his throat softly.

“Don’t twist my words. I mean to say, I find your company enjoyable, when you aren’t being forthcoming with slurs and other offensive terms.”

“So… a date?”

“No, not a date! Ugh! Gosh, Cronus, let it go. We are not dating.”

“But we are involved?”

“I’m not answering that.” He turns his face away from you and when he isn’t looking you feel the corners of your mouth turn down. Why was this so godamned hard? How can he do this, leading you on? Have you been friend-zoned? Is that what it feels like? Wow, it feels pretty bad.

But then you remember Kankri’s opinion on the term ‘friend-zoned’, his insistence that it is the product of a culture of undeserved masculine entitlement. Maybe it is, a relationship has to be two sided after all, but this doesn’t make the feeling of frustration and slightedness feel any better. It still hurts.

You take a deep breath and turn to face him.

“I’m not dropping this.”

“Clearly!”

“I mean it, I’m not giving up until you give me a straight up no. A flat, no frills, no excuses, no buts ‘no’. Can you say that to me? Right now? Or is there really some pretty-big part of you that says that actually, you do like me and you just don’t want to admit it.”

He looks distinctly peeved. Like, really visibly annoyed.

“I’m not having this conversation.”

“That doesn’t sound like a no.”

“I said I’m not having this conversation!”

He actually snaps at you, and you jump, because this really does seem like a first. Red roses of anger are lit on his cheeks, he is hunched over, arms wrapped tightly around himself.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, Cronus, okay! Just don’t talk about it, please! I don’t. Want. To talk about it!”

It’s too late to feel guilt, because in the next moment he is gone; standing up and leaving his books behind he walks with a weird swiftness down the row of books toward the library main door and disappears. You stare after him despairingly, a low groan of hurt and frustration escaping you, and eventually just flop sideways onto the sofa, head in your hands. This is not happening. No, no, no this is not happening. Why does everything in your life always end up so fucking bad?

You really, really need a smoke.

♋

You spend a long time brooding.

Not like ‘misunderstood artist brooding’ (which you do a lot), but ‘what is wrong with this guy why doesn’t he like me brooding’, which is in a different strand entirely and overall a lot more depressing.

He hasn’t talked to you for four days.

_Four days._

You had tried messaging him once or twice the first day, but eventually just gave up when he didn’t reply. Besides, Eridan was sick of lending you his cellphone, because the month had turned over to august a few days ago and you had been too depressed to leave the house and buy credit to top up your pre-pay. This left you alone in a silence that just seemed to echo endlessly, and not even the cordial sounds of a piano could drown out the thoughts that whispered in the back of your mind.

You have a lot of time to think about Kankri, what you know about him, how he tends to be and feel, and you realise a lot of things that actually, you feel sort of stupid for not noticing before. He had told you himself he has trust problems stemming from insecurity. He had tried so hard, once upon a time, to make you happy, and that had just fallen flat after it all. All those times he had worn a pained expression and let you kiss him... A grace. A small sacrifice. Eridan had assured you once that Kankri already liked you, but you just didn’t listen.

_“Oh he likes you… but that doesn’t mean shit…”_

And maybe he had.

Maybe he had, and you had just been too much of a self obsessed jerk to notice.

Maybe it was a two sided thing; his agreement to placate you by offering kisses and hand holding all those months before had been a way for him to keep you at a distance too. A relationship, but not really because even though you held hands, and touched noses, and told each other ‘I understand’ you didn’t actually understand at all. He had never wanted a serious relationship. He had never wanted someone to know him like you do, to get to him like you do, and you think in some ways you hadn’t wanted that either. Especially not from him. All his life he had spent time and effort holding people at arms distance because he was afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of being close to someone and paradoxically afraid of being alone. Because what if they got too close and realised that in accordance with his ‘everyone is equal’ policies and ‘no one is worth anything more than anyone else’ he isn’t that special after all.

You think he’s the most special person in all the world. And he’s treating you like absolute shit when all you want to do is love him.

And so it is that with this whole epiphany comes another emotion. The emotion that usually results from your own stupidity and the stupidity displayed by others.

 You are pretty fucking mad.

♋

You are sleeping almost naked when Eridan slams open your door some days later, cordless phone in his hand, and tosses the phone at you without regard for the fact that a little privacy would not have been missed. He doesn’t offer an explanation, shooting you a weary look before slamming the door closed in his wake, and you groan dragging a blanket over your exposed body and hunting for the phone where it might have landed amongst your sheets.

“Hello?” you croak, checking the clock on your side table and noting it’s almost eleven pm, and it doesn’t seem to have gotten any cooler since midday. Whoever the fuck this was, it had better be important. You’ve been in the worst mood in the history of all space time the last few days, and the more time you can spend dead to the world in unconsciousness the less time you have to worry about the fact that you are a complete and utter idiot who no one is ever going to love. Ever.

You are startled when the voice on the other end of the line is his, and he asks you with a degree of measurement that can only mean he is struggling to say what he wants to say.

“Hello Cronus. It’s me. Are you busy?”

“… I was asleep.”

“…Oh. Um, may I come over?”

“I guess?”

He hangs up, not even bothering to say goodbye, and you sit there looking at the phone as if it all may very well have been a dream.

♋

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

He smiles and you sheepishly from your doorstep, fists pulled into the sleeves of his jumper, and you sigh and step aside so he can enter. You fail to understand how he can even muster a lip twitch, considering.

“So I’ve been thinking.”

“About what? How much you don’t like me? How much of a jerk I am? That I’m a perfect example product of an ‘over-privileged self-interested sex-addict’ or god only knows what words you want to string together to make me feel like a tool?”

It comes out of your mouth on a wave of pent up frustration, and you don’t really mean it but it needs to be said. You have had these thoughts running around in your head for days and if you don’t get them out now you never will, even though honestly hearing him admit that he _had_ been thinking, rather than just sitting on his high horse of self importance as usual, had made your stomach clench in giddy excitement. You don’t really think Kankri is vindictive enough to come around this late just to have at you.

His cheeks colour, but he doesn’t waiver where he stands, looking at you with a purposeful expression on his face.

“No. None of those things. I actually came to apologise. I haven’t been treating you fairly, I understand that, and a lot of what I have been doing could be interpreted as ‘leading you on’, which wasn’t my intention. I realise the unfair nature of my actions, and understand your reactions accordingly. Also, my behaviour at the library the other day was almost certainly uncalled for, and regardless of the sensitive nature of your questions I should not have responded in such a rude and irrational manner. Please accept these apologies, I assure you, they are genuine.”

You look at him almost disbelievingly, and see him search your face for some form of forgiveness. You shrug, and he looks distinctly disheartened.

“Cronus, don’t be mad at me please. I don’t want you to be mad at me…”

“I’m not mad at you.”

Lies.

“You are so I can see it! Look, can we perhaps take this somewhere more private?”

“Fine. Come upstairs to my room.”

He follows you dutifully and silently up the stairs, and takes a presumptive seat on the end of your bed when you close the door. So much for asking first.

“You didn’t make your bed.”

“Why should I? I’m going back to sleep in a minute.”

This, if possible, only makes him look more guilty.

“Oh. Okay.”

A difficult silence descends on the room, and after about two minutes, he heaves a mighty sigh and turns to face your way.

“Look, Cronus. I really do like you, okay? There I said it.”

“Like me as in…”

“Romantically! Don’t stand there looking down on me, please sit I feel belittled and I don’t like it.”

You exhale, somehow hearing him confirm that he is interested in you doesn’t make you feel any better, but decide you can give him this much. You approach, and settle on the top end of your bed next to your pillows.

“You know, you are a lot more moody and selfish than you come across. It’s sort of unnerving to watch.”

He clicks his tongue and pushes his hair off his face. “Well, I guess that’s just one of the reasons I don’t want a relationship. I don’t like people who think they know me that well.”

“I do know you that well.”

“You do now! After an unfair amount of fighting for it and absolutely no considerations for my wishes.”

“Well, that’s a good thing isn’t it?”

“No! No it’s not a good thing! I don’t like it when people can make me feel things that aren’t objective or rational or otherwise neutral. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Welcome to the real world, chief. You aren’t the only person on the planet with security issues.”

“I don’t have security issues, and I would thank you not to make assumptions like that. It’s offensive.”

“Oh come on, Kan! If you forgive me for using a western religious specific term that could be interpreted as taking the good lords name in vain, what on gods green earth isn’t offensive to you? And you so fucking do! Always so scared you might offend someone if you actually say what’s on your mind, always hiding behind huge walls of stupid words and always trying to push people away. Celibacy is bullshit, just so you know. Slur completely intended. It’s an indication of fear. You’re scared to get close to people, because you think that you just aren’t special enough or worthy enough for anyone to actually like you and you don’t want to get hurt. Why would you do that to yourself? I like you! I liked you enough to fall for that entire ‘I considered us involved’ farce earlier in the year, and I like you enough now not to fucking boot you out. I’m desperate.”

Your voice creeps up a few decibels and you don’t even notice, the flood of words swift and raw and entirely unexpected. You don’t think you have ever said so much in one go in your life.  
“… That was not a farce!”

He looks so overwhelmed by offense that he struggles to isolate one detail to freak out over. In the end, he chooses the last one.

“That was not a farce! I did think of us as closer than just friends.”

“You did not. If you considered us closer than friends then you wouldn’t have bothered with trying to maintain that entire ‘distance is an expression of tolerant love’ thing. _‘I never ever believed you would be the sort of guy to understand these things’_. Don’t make me laugh. I think you mean _‘I never ever believed you would be the sort of guy to fall for this’_. Am I right?”

“Are you trying to tell me what I should think?”

“No, I’m telling you what I know you think. I know you think I’m not serious, and I know you think that you can hold me at arms length in an effort to maintain your perfect, virginal, little appearance; and most of all I know you think that you can convince me that you are just a generally nice, good guy who doesn’t deserve to be mocked or harassed or unwanted as he is, but you know what? You can’t do that, Kan. I know you. I know what you look like when you are shitty and I know how you pretend that I’m joking when you can’t brush off what I say with simple ‘trigger warnings’ and inoffences. I can tell when you are bothered and when you are just trying to be ‘nice’ but you don’t get that I don’t want you to be nice. If you don’t want to get the fuck over yourself and date me than I don’t want to waste my time with you anymore. Okay?”

Judging by the expression on his face, none of this is okay.

You had been thinking it for a while, though, if you were going to be honest. The five or six days between your argument at the library and now have been filled with pretty much nothing but thoughts on the situation that spread above and beyond the realization of why he had wanted to push you away. What he had been thinking, why he acts the way he does… simple problems. What you want to know the answer to now is how he can carry on and pretend like he doesn’t realise how much that way of thinking bothers you. It’s a little bit ironic, really, how the harder he tried to maintain a public façade in your presence he only made it more and more obvious what exactly was going on behind plain hazel eyes. It would have been tragic if it hadn’t, in the long term, been a feature that had served you so well.

“Kan, I love you.”

You reach for his hand and pull it into your lap, and perched on the end of your bed he stiffens completely, legs folded, back erect, his face a hearty red and his lip gnawed almost raw. You hope to the powers that be that he does not hyperventilate, because you don’t know how well you would be able to deal with that in this, an uncharacteristic moment of blinding emotional intensity. You hope he can feel the strength behind your words.

“I don’t care if you want to touch me without permission, and I don’t care if you sometimes say things I disagree with. I don’t care if you make offensive statements, or believe in things that you can’t justify. I don’t care about any of these things, because you like me and that’s all I want in a partner. You have to believe that. Give me a chance.”

He inhales sharply when you kiss his hand (the forth time you kiss him), but does not withdraw.

“Cronus, I can’t believe you would even say that to me.” His voice is weak, trembling. “I can’t believe you think all those things of me.”

“Why? Am I wrong?”

“No, it’s just, I… I don’t…”

He takes a deep breath, eyes fluttering as he tries to compose himself for whatever it is that may be coming next.

“I don’t know how. I don’t know why. I don’t understand anything any more because I’ve never had anyone pursue me. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Is that a yes?”

You don’t want to worry about things like disappointment now. You decide that whatever might happen will happen, but in this moment you and your heart are sitting on the edge of your seat, waiting to hear a yes or a no.

His face crumples and he pulls back his hand to bury his head in them. You observe a shaken nod as he hunches forward, and it’s strange to see him looking anything besides haughty and confident in his mannerisms, but also, it’s a thrill because that was definitely a yes.

He said yes.

You are dating Kankri Vantas, and the notion brings a little tear of sentiment to your own eye as you shuffle closer and let him collapse onto your chest and sob, rocking him back and forth until eventually his crying abates and he drops off to sleep.

♋

Unsurprisingly, he spends the next few days apologising profusely for his utterly embarrassing display, but you are too high on cloud nine to notice because for the first time in your life you are in a relationship, and nothing has ever felt so good.

Nothing. Honest to god. You think you would wither up and die if you ever had to be single again. 

Your relationship doesn’t change that much, other than the fact that he lets you hold his hand when you watch movies and hug him when you part ways at the end of the day, but then again you hadn’t really expected it to. What mattered to you was the fact that he no longer pointed out that you should have asked him first, and god, it’s such a relief to just go with what feels natural, without you having to worry about being scolded. God you had forgotten how good it felt to hold his hand.

♋

It is the last Wednesday of the summer when he calls you up excitedly, rambling in your ear which is hella difficult to translate considering you are still only half conscious.

It’s only ten am.

“Woah, babe, slow down a tick, seriously.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just really excited.”

“Okay, deep breaths. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I got head boy.”

It takes you a moment to find a context for this.

“You what?”

“Head prefect. Next year. Head of school.”

And then it hits you.

“Oh woah! Congratulations!” You sit up, tossing off your blankets, and scout your room for clothing on your floor. “That’s fucking great, doll. You want me to come over?”

“You can if you want to.”

You know this means that he does.

♋

Half an hour later, you are at his house, and he doesn’t hesitate once to throw himself at you when you open the door. His wide grin is something you know he would only ever show you, and his body is light and sweet in your arms as you set him down. He is holding the letter from school with the words ‘we are pleased to inform you…’ on the header still in his hand, and as he ushers you indoors you pluck it from him and read it briefly. Position of head boy… great responsibility… blah blah blah. You are happy to see him so excited, and fold the paper carefully as you follow him into the kitchen, and watch him pour you a drink.

“I have to go into school early on first day, to get a briefing, and I have to write a letter of introduction about myself for the PTA. Could I perhaps request that you give me a lift that day? I don’t think Porrim will be up and I can’t walk or I will have to wake up at five am.”

“Sure. What time you have to be there?”

“Seven. Is that too early? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.”

He rounds the breakfast bar and stops when he is chest to chest with you, face glowing, eyes bright with a sense of importance you just know he loves.

“But,” you tease him gently, brushing a lock of hair off his face with the hand not holding your drink, “if Eridan doesn’t loan me his car, you’re walking.”

His eyes roll, and in that moment you know a contentment unlike anything you have ever before experienced. He’s wearing a t-shirt…

What a babe. Your babe.

You lean in, slow enough to give him time to push you away if he doesn’t want it but not slow enough to seem hesitant, and press a brief kiss against his lips.

“Number five…”

“… What?”

When you pull away, he’s frowning at you, cheeks a healthy pink but with no indication of annoyance on his face. You snigger softly and shrug.

“Nothing. Never mind. You want to go to town today? We could go to the park and have an old school picnic.”

♋

You manage to get Eridan’s car and decide that the night before your first day back you will stay at his, so that you can be up and good to go in time for school.

You are irrationally excited.

He said you are allowed to sleep with him, and even though you know this is by no means a promise of sex, you can’t wait. The very notion of sleeping with someone in the same bed strikes you as intimate and meaningful in a way that kisses (which have become countless by now, maybe in the twenties, thirties, or more) are not.

Unfortunately, this excitement promises to make things awkward, and while it’s okay sitting with him watching a film as the day draws to a close, anticipation does end up making a twitchy fool of you. It feels like ten thousand lifetimes when, at eight pm, he shuts off the television and says that it might be time for bed.

You have no idea how on earth he can maintain an impression of calm.

The two of you make your way upstairs, and he grabs his pyjamas (shorts and a singlet, usually coupled with a sweater during winter; you’ve seen them so many times before, why are you only just noticing this now?) before departing to the bathroom to leave you time to get changed. It feels awkward to shuck your clothes and jump into bed, but it also feels awkward to shuck your clothes and wait around for him to return so you go with the former. His bed is cushy soft and you sink way down into it; the duvet heavy, but cool.

He seems a little put out to see you in his bed, but he bears it gracefully knowing that it had been he who said it was okay. Feeling his weight sink into the mattress beside you is delicious, and you roll onto your stomach to regard him as he switches off the lamp and settles down. It’s not pitch black in his room, some late evening light still filters around the edge of his curtains, and you can make out his face in the dark.

“Hey.” You reach for him, finding his hand under the blanket and curling your fingers through his. “This is for real now, right?”

He shrugs and the blanket rustles.

“I guess it is.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Don’t ask me that.”

You take this to mean yes, and for the first time since the very first kiss you brush your lips against his with a sense of awe and absolute absorption. You are focusing on nothing else, not on the thrill of being able to do this (that had already worn off) and not on any activity that might have otherwise distracted you. It’s just you, lying in bed plain as day, next to your boyfriend and kissing him as though he’s the only thing in your world. Which he kind of is.

He doesn’t move when you pull away, except to exhale and roll onto his back, and you prop yourself up so as to look down on him and shuffle closer.

“Okay?”

“Mm. Yes. It’s just… hard to get used to.”

“Can I do it again?”

“Stop asking!”

You chuckle, hoping the irony of that statement is not lost, and drop closer so as to kiss him again and again. Three brief kisses… a long indulgent one… the way he breathes as you suck gently on his upper lip is so perfect, even though he doesn’t really make any attempt to respond until the fifth time you kiss him, and even then it is hesitant. Fractured.

“Put your arms around my neck.” You instruct him, in the hope that such efforts might make it easier for him to respond, and he does, even though his grip is loose and a bit wobbly.

Unsurprisingly, he’s not the greatest kisser. It’s like he doesn’t even try. Like he’s never seen a film in which two people kiss in his entire life, let alone practiced puckering while he’s alone. You end up having to be the boss, which doesn’t bother you that much, but you do hope that in the future a little bit of reciprocation might be on the ticket. His lips are good though. Virtuous and soft and thin, and you think they taste a little like honey chapstick, which isn’t surprising. Though you had had him figured as more of a strawberry guy.

You’ve never made out with anyone before. This is your first make out session and wow, you haven’t really got the best idea of what you are doing, but you don’t really care because Jesus Christ, overall, is it ever fantastic. You could do this for years.

You wonder if he would mind if you add a little tongue.

It’s hard to get the message across; you must lick his lips two or three times with no result, and in the end you have to part and tell him straight what you are doing.

“I’m trying to put it in your mouth?”

He frowns, as if he is trying to understand why someone would do that, and that expression morphs into one of surprise.

“Oh! Okay, I’m just… this is happening really fast…”

“Did you want me to stop?”

“No, I mean it’s just…” He closes his eyes and sighs. “It’s hard to process it all. It’s very new, and it feels different to how I had always assumed. A lot different. A lot more real.”

“Do you not like it?”

“No I do! It’s good. Just… strange. I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

You smile and sneak a brief kiss against his temple.

“Just keep your lips open a little. Here.” You reach up and touch his jaw gently, pulling it down and parting his lips just enough for them to feel open when you reach up and caress them with your fingers. They are warm and a little wet, and a modest dart of sensation tingles down your fingers when he kisses the tips pressed against the crease.

“Your hands smell like soap. It’s quite pleasant.”

And at that moment you realise how excited about this whole thing you are. A noise escapes you, almost like a giggle, and you have to drop your face against his neck to hide it.

“Your lips taste like chapstick. ‘It’s quite pleasant’.”

“I hate to contradict you, Cronus, and don’t take it as an assertion of my intelligence over yours, but I don’t use chapstick.” You can hear a faint note of amusement in his voice. “Are you going to kiss me some more or not? I was hoping to be asleep by eight thirty.”

“Oh shit. Right. Sorry.”

You are still trying not to chuckle when you kiss him again.

It’s nicer when his lips are looser, and it’s good to hear soft sounds escape him when you use a certain variance of pressure just right. He tenses up a little when you first slip your tongue inside, but adjusts to it quickly, returning to a state of ragdoll relaxation in your arms. This is good. This is really good. All those years of reading up on technique and watching videos have paid off, because it feels fucking great to press your tongue against his and get even the tiniest caress back in response. It’s weird, mouths feel a lot smaller when they are someone else's, and you are mapping each inch slowly, and with your tongue. You suppose it’s because your tongue had always had enough room to move comfortably about in your own mouth, whereas when you are trying to impart on someone else's oral territory it’s not so familiar and significantly more snug, but you enjoy it just the same. The texture is nice, and it tingles in your jaw and down your throat, where you can feel it pool between your shoulder blades.

Of course, you would have to be Jesus himself to spend ten, maybe fifteen, minutes snogging with the guy you had been crushing on for what feels like half your life without getting at least a little bit of a boner. You had been mortified at first, because what if he felt it and freaked out on you? But when he bent his leg a little and notched it tightly between your thighs you know he couldn’t not have noticed, and exhale in relief when he does nothing to stop you pressing your pelvis against his leg surreptitiously at first, and a little more intensely later. So that’s what it feels like, to have your dick squashed against someone else…

It’s a little disappointing he doesn’t manage to get one in return, but you are just kicking things up a notch when he turns his head away, allowing you a free passage down his throat to the curve where his neck and shoulder joined, and makes a low sound, which at first you interpret (with a tremendous leap of your heart) as pleasure.

“Cro, stop. It’s almost nine.”

“What?”

Your voice is a bit rough from all that action, and you are more than shocked to hear you have been kissing for almost an hour. Time just seems to dissolve when you are locking lips for the first time, taking seconds and minutes to explore sides and mouths and jawbones hesitantly, feeling the warmth between two bodies swell.

“It’s almost nine o’clock.” He sounds a little breathless, and you can’t help the warm flood of satisfaction that inspires in you. “We should go to sleep.”

You think sorely of your erection, which, although it isn’t urgent, would not have complained of a little bit of attention.

“Aww fuck.” You sigh heavily and drop your forehead into the pillow. Kankri hums softly and drags his nails lightly over your bare back.

“We can do it more later, okay?” A light kiss touches your cheek and quickly you lift your face to reconnect with him briefly. It’s an odd feeling, being stopped halfway through. Incomplete. Teasing. As though something important is missing.

You roll off him, consider asking him for a hand job, but then realise that no way in hell is he going to go for that, and you don’t want to work him up by asking. Instead you go for a final, drawn out and clearly pained kiss, which only feels even worse when, when you pull away, he grabs you back and plants a few brief kisses on your mouth again.

“See you in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

You fall asleep pretty quickly, despite sporting an impressive boner. Somewhere in the night you roll over, and he manages to find his way into the cradle of your arms.

♋

It’s weird being a senior, but you only realise after a pleasant two or three weeks at school that you do not miss seeing most of the old senior crowd around. Meenah, for example.

Frankly, you never want to see her again.

Also, being a senior seems to have given you great sway with usually unpleasant heads of department. It doesn’t take long before you have managed to convince the music head to allow you into the music department during breaks, which was something you had never been allowed to do before.

It provides a welcome and pleasant retreat for you, and Kankri doesn’t take long to adopt it too.

“Hey sweetheart, busy today?”

He shows up later than usual one break, pile of books in his arms, and tiredly drops them on the top of the piano despite the fact you have asked him not to in the past.

“Very, actually. I’m tired. It’s only Wednesday…”

“Awww… poor baby. Come here.” You pat the stool next to you and he regards you with borderline distaste. Poor baby? Maybe that had been pushing it…

“I have four meetings between now and Friday next week, I really don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s a lot of work…”

“They wouldn’t have given you the job if they didn’t think you could do it.”

He sighs heavily and drops into the seat at your side.

“I agree, but all the same.”

“Sounds like you could use some stress relief…” You creep an arm around his shoulders and pull him close. “I’d offer you a cigarette but I’m fresh out.”

“I thought you quit!”

“I did. That’s the joke. Hahaha… get it?”

You nudge him and he groans, clearly not finding it half as funny as he would have in a cheerful mood.

“Hilarious. Really hilarious.”

“Hey, sarcasm is offensive to me. Watchit.”

“It is not.” He drops his arms and head down onto the piano keys, and it makes a tuneless, loud, thunking noise. You tisk calmly and stroke a hand down the back of his neck. “Don’t be ridiculous. No offence.”

Bluh, none taken. But you poke the back of his neck anyway and hope he will get off the piano keys soon; you are busy writing a song and it’s getting intense.

“Kan, seriously though. If you want any kind of… anti-stress or whatever? That’s what I’m here for.”

“Just say it, Cronus. I know you want to.”

“… If you want to have sex?”

He sits up and shakes his head, pushing a lick of hair behind his ear.

“I don’t want to have sex, it’s okay.”

“But-“

“Seriously. It’s okay.”

You slouch in disappointment and must look pretty hangdog about it because he sighs, reaching for your face and caressing your left cheek.

“I want to have sex though…”

“I know you do. Maybe later. Can we not talk about it at school? It’s not really an appropriate thing to be talking about for an academic setting.”

You frown, noticing, for the first time since you have known him, a flaw in the flow of his words. That doesn’t quite… make sense. Is he really that tired? Already?

Indeed, out of the corner of your eye he does look weary, pillowed bruises under his eyes, an expression of short temperament (though well disguised) playing the corner of his lips. You decide to leave it, brushing a kiss against his temple instead.

“Okay, fine.”

“Thank you. Also, please don’t kiss me in public. Public displays of affection can be triggering to some people.”

“It’s not public,” you tell him smoothly, glancing around the completely empty music room. “We’re alone.”

“So? Someone might come in.”

“No one is going to come in.”

“But they might, and that’s concern enough for me.” With a sense of finality he pushes you away, and you are a little disappointed, but you think you can be patient for now.

Patience. Not a quality you would have ever thought of yourself as having.

You don’t know how long this will last.

♋

It’s been a long time since he stayed over, but there comes a Friday in September that he agrees to stay the night with you. You don’t have high hopes, but you do have some hopes. Maybe some macking, something you haven’t done in a while, or a bit of grinding. You wouldn’t mind having an orgasm…

You don’t know… it feels like, over the two and a bit months you have been together, things have become pretty ordinary. Like you are being forgotten in the day to day flow of his life. You know you are not, but considering he wont let you touch him intimately in public, and thanks to his head boy duties, he hardly has time to spend with you in the privacy of your own homes. You are feeling a bit like an old wife of no particular value.

You don’t want to say he owes you, but…

Yeah no. You feel like he owes you. Just a little bit.

You feel horrible, because you know he doesn’t, but old habits die hard and your sense of entitlement is something that is always going to be an integral part of you. You are the oldest child of one of the richest men in this part of America. You are used to having your own way. Ideally, you would not have chosen someone so stubborn and opinionated as a partner, but love doesn’t make sense sometimes, and it is irksome, at best. You are a guy. With urges. And you are positive he has urges too but he’s just too obstinate to admit it.

But you have never yet felt him get a boner.

You are beginning to suspect that there may just be something about himself that he’s not telling you. Even though you know that’s ridiculous.

You are content enough though, to have him curl up on the sofa at your side for now, the pair of you hidden away in the rumpus room while your brother and father conduct a shouting match of epic proportions down stairs. It’s raining, and a little chilly, and the sweaters seem to have returned with a vengeance but they do smell awfully nice. And soft too.

He lies there calmly, and allows you to kneed the wool on his side, eyes half cast and focused on whatever it is playing on the TV. You consider making a move, but think that the mood doesn’t feel quite right. Not yet…

You are more than surprised when it is he who initiates it this time.

You don’t notice what he is doing for a little while. At first you think that he is just being restless, shuffling around and pulling himself against your arm, but then it occurs to you that he’s trying to get closer, nose the side of your neck and place little kisses there without you even managing to notice.

“Wow, what?”

You turn your head down and catch him looking at you, and unsurprisingly he does not waiver in the steadiness of his response.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?”

He knows you so fucking do.

You think it is his innocence that makes him so goddamned desirable. Sweet, pure, untouched and virginal… Everything about him drives you crazy, especially when he is being coy without even intending to. You grab his face a little rougher than you needed to and push a harsh kiss on his lips. What a hottie. Your hot little doll…

Things flow pretty naturally from there.

Sinking backward into the sofa you pull him onto you, tasting the familiar by now contours of his tongue and teeth, your arms looping a handsomely skinny waist. His breath comes in soft, short mouthfuls and it’s stunning because you remember the first time you ever kissed him like this it had been so slow that he had barely finished short of breath. Now he’s panting lightly, and he doesn’t object to your hands caressing the backs of his legs, your palm slipping up the base of his spine. His sweater rides up, and for a moment your fingers hesitate, unsure if he would object to you putting your hands underneath.

“Can-“ I touch you.

He cuts you off, sucking a slowly improving kiss from your lower lip, and you take that as a yes, stroking your touch under the wool and rubbing cool, pleasant skin for the very first time. He has acne scarring over the small of his back, and for some reason you find this deeply endearing. Kankri used to get bad acne, you had forgotten about it until right now. Somehow it is deeply personal to know that he had been affected in places beyond the face he showed every day, and you find yourself wanting to feel more. Wondering more. Does he have scars on his shoulder too? What about in other places on his body? Does he have beauty marks? Freckles? Does his navel sink inwards, or is it what your dad used to call an ‘outie’?

A soft sound slips from him when you trail your fingers up his spine and his shoulders tense, his kisses deepening significantly. The sound of lips touching, wet and gentle, is one you have always liked but never really thought about until right now. He whimpers.

“FINE! FUCK YOU TOO!”

Your moment is shattered by the sound of Eridan storming upstairs, his footfalls heavy, his voice a livid and broken howl. Kankri jumps backwards, accidentally biting your tongue, and you swear, just managing to catch him as, in an almost comical moment of confusion, he nearly slips backwards onto the ground.

“What is happening?!”

“They are arguing. I don’t know why. Fucking hell man, I swear I’m gunna fucking- woah! Are you okay?”

Kankri seemed to slip sideways in slow motion, and you snap into seating position a moment too late to catch him and re-secure him on your lap. The sound of him falling onto the carpeted floor is muffled by Eridan’s door slamming closed down the hall. Trying not to laugh (beause it had been kind of funny) you lean over the seat to make sure he is alright.

He appears startled, a little dazed, but unhurt.

“Ouch.” He tells you calmly, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. You snigger and ooze off the sofa beside him, giving him a prod to ensure he is okay.

“You a bit tipsy there, chief?”

“You know I don’t drink.”

“Not on alcohol babe. On love.”

He doesn’t respond beyond glaring at you half heartedly, and you lean over him to kiss him and hopefully resume where you left off. It’s more fun to be on top anyway, holding him against the floor and feeling him squirm, and it doesn’t take long to pick up where you were once more.

A million kisses. No matter how distant you feel from him when he’s at the front of the school delivering speeches and you are sat in the crowd; no matter how different you may be, or how lonely you feel when he doesn’t have time to hang around, you still have countless kisses between you, and moments in which this is the only thing that matters in the world. Perhaps you had been naive, to assume that when the pair of you began a proper relationship everything would be romance and physical touching and getting off every time you had an itch to do so. Perhaps you had been naive, but with naiveté came a feeling of neutrality about it all that simply was no match for the spectacular highs and lows of reality.

 

 

 

  This is what it’s really like.

You aren’t really focusing on things like time, or resisting urges, and it doesn’t take you long to get it up but you really don’t think he minds. One of these days, you think he is going to pull away and tell you it’s cute, the way you want him so much, and maybe it is, but you don’t really care. For now it’s nice to just be close to him, and to smell his skin, and hear his breathing catch when you slide a hand over his thigh and pull his leg around your hip. He moans.

He moans.

That is the sound he makes; an undeniable moan.

It sounds strange, a little muffled as though he was trying his darndest not to, but you would recognise that sound anywhere because god knows you have seen enough porn. You jerk your head backward and search his face for any indication that you should stop doing whatever it is you are doing, but it is not forthcoming. Rather, he seems perfectly content to just lie there completely submissive and wait for whatever might come next.

“… You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

His voice is strained, breathless, and wow is that ever hot. You waste no time in bending down and kissing his jaw, his neck, hunting for his pulse at the base of his throat and battling with his cursed sweater, to get it out of the way. Now that he’s done it once, he moans some more, and it’s like a floodgate opening over his lips. Noises of pleasure, soft, indulgent, wonderful…

You want to beg him, plead with him, demand he pop a boner in exchange for your efforts, that would just be so great, but he stops you just as you are getting really into it, your hands creeping under his top and touching his navel which is indeed sunk in and smooth.

“Cro, stop, stop please stop!”

“What? Why?”

“I’m not ready for this!”

Not ready for this… will he ever be?

Your heart sinks and you groan, rolling sideways and lying there, on the floor. Your erection is obvious and actually threatening to get pretty painful, poking straight upright in the front of your soft denim jeans. Kankri is panting, his breathing a little desperate, and you realise that the hand he has left laced with yours is trembling madly. His sweater is scooched up almost to his chest.

“Oh my,” he tells you shakily, and the sound sends an acute feeling of guilt through you. It touches an instinct you didn’t know you had, some kind of primal, protective thing that you have ignored in favour of pursuing your own sexual desires, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to bear it, frustration pulsing hard in your veins. “I’m so sorry for startling you, I got scared and panicked when you touched my stomach. Please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry.” You lie. You are pretty angry, but not really angry at him so much as you are angry in general. “I wouldn’t have gone all the way anyway.”

Oh, Cronus Ampora, you filthy fibber you are. You would have fucked him senseless right here if he hadn’t stopped you and you know it.

“… Do you want me to apologise for not being able to...”

“Oh fuck no!” You snap at him and stand up, not bothering to excuse yourself as you stride to the rumpus room door and yank it open; the bathroom and relief from the cock breaking constraints of your pants are the only things on your mind. Goddamn him! Maybe _he_ should check his entitlement. _‘Do you want me to apologise…’_

He should _know_ you want him to apologise! Raining on your boner parade. Let him be prudish and self satisfied with his high and mighty ‘I-shouldn’t-have-to-apologise-for-not-wanting-to-have-sex’ in his own time!

No, wait, stop. You are being angry and hormonal and irrational. Take a deep breath and calm down…

You feel a little better, once you get off, even though you are wanking yourself so hard it kind of hurts. Less angry, and almost sort of ashamed of loosing your cool like that.

Like that second time you kissed him after swimming that day, you are surprised (and relieved) to see that he is still there when you get back. You are even more surprised when he insists he stay, and crawls into bed with you and with a great sense of dignity about him (even though he so knows what his cold feet made you do) lets you hold him close. Though he doesn’t say much, you think it’s better than sleeping alone.

♋

You don’t sleep well.

You toss and turn, and although Kankri seems content curled up beside you, you keep stirring up the sheets, trying to process all the feelings and frustrations that are driving around inside your head. His breathing is soft and regular, hair dark and tousled on your pillow. You wonder, halfway between consciousness and sleep, if he can feel you watching him in his dreams. You like that idea: that he thinks of you when you are not around. It gives you a sense of belonging, of contentment that still for the most part escapes you. You suppose you are just being greedy; a few weeks ago you had sworn to yourself that you would never be dissatisfied with your life again. But things change, opinions differ. He knows what you want from him, he knows that your ship is in; all you can do is wait for him to swim out to it.

You feel like a different person, from the guy who first kissed his best friend nine months ago, and you have a feeling that in another nine months time you will be a different man again. Whether or not between now and then you loose him, you keep him, or you hurt him, is another matter entirely. You don’t know what the future will bring, all you can hope is that you can make it work for a little while. Long enough to make him love you too.

♋

**Author's Note:**

> PART TWO (there is a tiny bit of porn in here... not really. its jst a schmultzy ending and a hand job) can be found on [ Tumblr ](http://bitchtearsandbuttsecks.tumblr.com/post/37631127548/so-i-wrote-a-pretty-big-thing-more-this)


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